Talking A Blue Streak
by Amilyi
Summary: [G1] A collection of different Bluestreak stories, of all ratings. Based on the '28 InsertCharacterName' meme from Livejournal.
1. Energon Drinking

**Talking a Blue Streak**

A/N: Thank you for the responses that made this collection of Bluestreak stories possible. Please look at my profile to see the remaining available options and instructions for requests. Slash is a possibility and chapters will be labelled so in the Author's Notes. I do not, however, make any apologies for any innuendo you may find within my work: – you just have a dirty mind.

The following was requested by ThatRedCar.

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**Energon-Drinking Bluestreak.**

"Aww, don't stop now!"

"Yeah – not long to go!"

"Drink! Drink! Drink! Drink!" Said the four Autobots in unison. This was Bluestreak's third high-grade in as many astro-minutes. With lifted corners at the edge of his lip-components, he tossed back the container and gulped. The room was starting to spin. He was beginning to feel a little woozy. Well, as long as the others were passing him his drinks, he had no real reason to get up out of his chair.

"Easy now – pace yerself kid!" Wheeljack chuckled advisedly. "Yer either gonna be here for hours or yer gonna end up in Ratchet's care within the hour: your choice."

Hound's hand was on Bluestreak's shoulder. He grinned down at him and passed the young gunner yet another drink. Sunstreaker and Sideswipe were the ringleaders of this little booze-up: they had a mounting collection of empty containers in front of them and were adamant that they would bring the black and silver Datsun down with them. The twins were there for fun; Hound was there because he had nowhere better to be and was enjoying their company. Wheeljack stood a little behind the scout. Just like the others, he only really wanted to see the young 'bot get drunk.

Bluestreak was not feeling too well. He had drunk too much energon, too fast. But he wanted to impress the brothers – he wanted to prove himself to the others and be accepted. If that meant one night of sickness for weeks of respect, then so be it in his mind.

Bluestreak lifted his drink in cheer to the CMO, leaning against the bar not too far from him. Down went his fourth. Ratchet looked nonchalant. Holding his own high-grade, he sipped at it and analysed the young Autobot, wondering how long it would be before he fell off of his chair. Bluestreak wobbled. Not long if he kept this up.

"Hic!" The sudden sound from Bluestreak surprised the others. "Hic! Hic!" Sunstreaker and Wheeljack began sniggering. "Hrk!" The five other Autobots looked startled and concerned.

"Now what did I _say_?" Wheeljack chided. "Come on Blue – you've had enough already."

"Nah, nah… 's fine. Really. Yeah," Bluestreak slurred. The common room looked different after a few drinks. He was unsure how though. Wheeljack looked to Ratchet pleadingly for support.

"Don't give me that look - you're on your own and you were encouraging him in the first place. If he goes through with this, then we're less likely to have a repeat experience than if he's interrupted before it reaches its 'conclusion'." This, of course, meant: 'before the high-grade returned to the world once more by the same way that it had left'. Bluestreak was too engaged with the ceiling to notice Ratchet's words. His digits fumbled around another glass that had been placed near his hand. He took his time with this one – he could not drink it fast even if he wanted to.

"C'mon Blue Boy!" Sideswipe tossed back two more full receptacles. The gunner tried to follow suit unsuccessfully. Sunstreaker said nothing but gave him a roguish grin and did the same. The older ones sipped their drinks slowly.

"I'll bet you my entire 'Dr. Who' collection that Blue Boy doesn't make it back to 'is own bed," Wheeljack smirked at Hound.

"No contest – it's obvious that he won't," Ratchet sniped. Wheeljack loved 'Dr. Who': he found it immensely cheesy and engaging all at the same time – it was interesting to see the perceptions of what space and alien technology was like to a race that had yet to make it past their own star.

"Hic! Hic! H…Hrk!" Bluestreak covered his mouth and stood up. Someone kicked his legs out from underneath him and tilted and span the world about while they were at it. Before he realised what had happened, he was on the floor. Everyone stood up and watched his body anxiously.

"Who put that floor there?" He reached up to grab the table but ended up nearly pulling it on-top of himself. The empty energon containers slid across the table and scattered themselves over and around Bluestreak. Unable to stand, he looked at the door to the quarters. Bed. Bluestreak pulled himself along the floor on hands, feet and knees in a similar style to breast-stroke. Sunstreaker burst out laughing and would not stop. Hound and Wheeljack were either side of the Datsun, trying to convince him to let them take him to Med-bay. "Nah, 's fine… everythin' 's fine. I can get back by m'self…" Ratchet stared at the gunner from his place at the bar but did nothing.

When Bluestreak managed to get himself across the floor, the door opened. He found he was looking at two big red feet. Had he bothered to look up any further, he would have seen Ironhide looking down at him with a questioning look.

"Do yer need some help there li'l buddy?"

"Out of his way, Ironhide! He has to make it back himself – it's the only way he'll learn," Ratchet told him strictly. Bluestreak shuffled forwards once more. Sunstreaker was still laughing. The security alarm started going off. "Decepticons!" The twins stood up and took Bluestreak by each arm. It was blatantly obvious he was in no state to fight. Come to think of it, neither were they.

"Come on Blue – to the med-bay with you!"

"Oohh, hic! That rhymes! Hrk!"

Two unsteady Lamborghinis pulled the Datsun along the corridor with Ratchet pacing lethargically behind. Bluestreak might not have lasted the night, but the speed at which he had taken in the high-grade energon and kept it down had earned him that bit more respect from the four other Autobots. And all it had cost him was his pride, his memory of that night and his health the following morning.

"Hrk!"

End.

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A/N: The five people who made the original requests had a choice between Bluestreak, Hound or Ironhide, hence the 'cameos' in this first chapter for the other two. If the next chapters are all of this length, consider yourselves (both readers and requesters) very lucky. Very, very lucky. 


	2. In The Rain

A/N: This was requested by Vixen's-Shadow as **slash**. Those who don't like it, consider yourselves _warned_. (It's more like fluff though to be honest.)

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**In-the-Rain.**

The gibbous moon was hidden deep behind the ash sky. Winds were running through the valley in an unceasing rage. No seeker would be misguided enough to even think of raiding on a night like this. Routine patrol duty did not take this into consideration however. Right about now, Jazz and Blaster would be cranking up the sound system for a party or Trailbreaker would be organising a film… anything was better than here. _Brawn and the other minibots are probably finishing their training and Tracks and Sunstreaker are no doubt having their 'prettiest mech' competition with each other… heh heh – those girls in Portland sure knew which Corvette they wante-_. Lightning stabbed the ground and the resounding thunder thrust Bluestreak from his thoughts. He thought it had been a Decepticon jet.

"Bluestreak to base," the Autobot gunner chattered into his comm-link.

"Prowl here," the other Datsun replied. The channel was unclear. Rain began to gently tap the young Autobot's shoulders and helmet. He had to admit, the warm Autumn rain felt quite relaxing.

"No Decepticon activity to report. There's a storm advancing in your direction though – hope no-one's thinking of taking any late-evening strolls." _What a shame I'm stuck on one long 'late-evening stroll'._ There was static at the other end of the link and thunder sounded above. "Hmm… must be this valley." The rain on his body became a harder thrumming. Bluestreak made his way over to the valley sides and began to climb the steep scree incline. He was half-way to the top of the slick slope and could see the trees reaching up to the firmament. Not long now.

The left side of his body abruptly sank. Bluestreak gasped and turned his gaze – his foot had fallen through the scree up to his knee-joint. The swift rain torrent had loosened the small rocks and made them unstable. To try to get free, he shifted his weight onto his other foot and pulled. The rocky, watery mess beneath him relented, seizing his other foot and pulling him down. Bluestreak could not escape. To his terror, he sensed his weight was too much: he was sinking into the gravelly, muddy chaos. Inch. By inch. By inch. By the night's end, the shingled bank would have him whole – no-one would be able to find him. He tried his comm-link again; his only answer was white noise. In the winds, in the night, in the valley… he felt so utterly alone. The rain came tumbling down.

A hand stretched out to him. Bluestreak had not realised that someone had come for him.

"Don't you worry now Blue," the familiar voice said, "we'll get you out." Bluestreak reached for the hand with both of his and held onto it like it was an apparition ready to blow away. But it was solid – and strong. Another hand and a pair of arms reached and gripped his shoulders. They pulled. Buried up to the middle of his chassis, his whole frame pulsed with pain. They struggled to take him back – he was the game _and_ the prize between his rescuers and the captivating, ever-melding earth. In one short, sharp motion, he was released. The three Autobots sprawled into the mud. The pain ebbed and settled but his legs were unresponsive.

"Well you sure get yourself into some predicaments, don't you, Blue?" Sunstreaker said aloud.

"Good thing Prowl sent us out here to get you," Sideswipe's charming voice answered. They looked to the gunner in mute shock. Bluestreak trembled. Under the clatter of the furore sky, he was laughing.

"I thought…I thought no-one was going to come for me," Bluestreak said at last. "I thought no-one would bother coming out in this weather and everyone would just wait to see if I came home by myself." He was relieved – relieved to the point where his body surrendered and he fell into Sideswipe's arms. Neither twin had a response. Sunstreaker considered the scratched and muddied legs.

"Ah, Blue," Sunstreaker sighed with despair. "You're all dirty." Bluestreak's legs were numb, but he watched as Sunstreaker gently laid them out in front of him and let the sky wash away the loam. The yellow Autobot carefully rubbed the remaining dirt away and checked for damage. His twin softly cradled the Datsun against his chest and soothingly stroked his chassis and helm. Bluestreak breathed shallowly, his over-heated internal air producing draughts of mist as it touched the cool atmosphere. He had never been so physical with the twins before – or at least, not in an intimate way. He leaned further into Sideswipe's shoulder as Sunstreaker worked his way up to his thighs. The red Lamborghini cupped Bluestreak's face with his hand and began kissing his cheek, his face, his neck, his shoulders… Bluestreak let them do whatever they wanted; he was too weak from it all to care. On such a turbulent night, he had found peace in the quiet, embracing rain.

End.

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	3. In The Mists

A/N: Written for Blue, hijacked by a motley crew.

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**In-the-Mists.**

Kaboom!

"What was that?" Bluestreak opened the door to his quarters… to find a moving grey wall in front of him. It spilled into his room. Smoke? His olfactory sensors detected nothing. Mist? A hand stretched out from monotony.

"Blue? Ya there?" Trailbreaker stepped through. "Whew! Sorry to step in uninvited, but the one minute I was walking down the corridor, the next, all I can see is… _this_!" He pointed at the grey. A hand grabbed his fingers. Both mechs jumped. In one fluid motion, Trailbreaker was yanked back into the mist. "Oof!"

"Hey! I caught a Trailbreaker!" A smooth voice said excitedly.

"Put it back man – you don't know where it's been!" A melody replied.

"'It' has been patrolling the Ark for the past few days!" Trailbreaker strolled back in, smirking just as much as the following Jazz and Blaster.

"Knock, knock," Jazz said, standing in the centre of the room.

"…Aww, don't worry. Come on in!"

"I'm sure th' mist 'll clear soon enough an' we'll get t' jumpin' an' a jivin'!" Jazz put a hand on Bluestreak's shoulder and looked about the room. His possessions were scattered about the place, spread out. It was not chaotic. It was not messy… just disorganised. "Ooh – Beejees!"

After five minutes they opened the door again – the miasma was thicker than before.

"Well, I ain't goin' out inta that!" Blaster complained.

"Hello? Someone there?" It was Wheeljack's voice.

"Ssh! Ssshhh! He's th' one responsible f' this!" Jazz grinned. They all fell silent.

"Anyone?" Wheeljack asked unsurely – lonely.

"Over here Wheeljack!" Bluestreak said at last. The other three mechs sighed, a little disappointed. With a bit of guidance, Wheeljack came into sight. They shut the mist out behind him.

"Whew! Thanks guys – I was beginnin' ta think I'd neva find my way through! When I heard that explosion-"

"Whoa! Wait a minute! That wasn't one o' _your_ explosions?" Blaster asked. The mad inventor looked offended.

"Well, no – it came from t' other end o' the base!"

"This requires an investigation! C'mon Blue Boy!" Jazz grabbed Bluestreak's wrist and pulled him into the vapour. Wheeljack clasped his other arm and was followed by Blaster and Trailbreaker. Bluestreak only realised this by their voices – bickering over what article they had just collided with and who was responsible for this environmental hazard if Wheeljack was innocent.

After nine minutes, they were completely lost. By the first quarter of an hour had passed, they had tripped over several unknown objects, bumped into innumerable walls and (if, according to Jazz, they were where he said they were) had bumped their heads on four objects that should never have been there.

"Ah – more people!" Perceptor emerged from the mist. To do this, he had to be less than four feet from them. "Here, I need your help turning off the power to the boiler. There's been a small… accident. As I'm sure you can tell." Bluestreak cocked his brow – though no-one would have noticed. He felt for the nearest wall before groping about for a switch. "It's a twist-lever by the way – located under a desk on the right wall opposite the lab entrance." Bluestreak knocked something over. "That's my electro-magnetiser," he heard Perceptor wince. Bluestreak listened as something else shattered with a pleasing, tinkling sound. "There goes my favourite lens," the increasingly irate scientist replied. Blaster tripped. A clatter of metal reverberated through the room. "…And that happened to be _me_." Bluestreak found a desk. He bent over, blind by the mist, and found the twist-lever by touch. The haze thinned partially, leaving the others as apparitions barely in his sight. "Ah! It's a little overdone, but it remains digestible. Thank you for your assistance." The other mechs gaped at the incredulous sight. A purplish-green fluid in a beaker – a brew – had been the sole cause of all of the mist. Perceptor walked over and downed it, the last of the thick cloudy grey wisps escaping from his mouth. With that, he smiled at them and disappeared through the door and into what fog still remained.

End.

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A/N: After the amount of exclamation marks I have used in this, I never hope to see one again. Believe it or not, this was actually edited to _reduce_ the number of exclamation marks used. 

The rating will likely go up with the next chapter, and therefore will not appear on normal K – T-rated searches.


	4. Scared

A/N: Requested by Syntia13.

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**Scared.**

Bluestreak ran. He could hear the Decepticon following behind him as he tumbled over and through the planet's strange geography. He had only been re-activated on Earth three days before. He had no idea that he was wading through a swamp – or which way he was going, or how to get out. Pain lingered in his relays. His pistons strained. His body had been so eager to get away from danger – to start this game of predator and prey – but he had exerted himself too far. He was too weary and he could go no further. The Datsun crouched down, hiding under layers of bog-mist and fallen branches, listening over the eerie sound of crickets and frogs for his pursuer. He readied his gun. His hands were shaking too much for him to make an accurate shot, yet a weapon was still a weapon and it comforted him to know it was there. The jet approached.

Starscream stopped at the edge of the pond and stared about him. He cringed at the smell and muttered under his breath how difficult the sludge would be to remove from his joints, before continuing on slowly. His every movement brought a loud squelch, of which both mechs were fully aware. Bluestreak watched the Second-in-Command go by as his own joints shook noisily. Pain and fear held him taut, keeping him from moving and sustaining his consciousness. It would not be long now: the Decepticon would pass him by. Just as quickly as he had been put into danger, so it would leave. All he had to do now was watch, hope, and patiently wait.

Starscream abruptly stopped. The jet turned steadily, taking in his surroundings. His eyes locked onto Bluestreak's, and he leered. Bluestreak recoiled. _My optics – he can see my optics!_ He shut them tight – all too late. The leisurely steps of Starscream pounded through his mind, ever nearing, ever nearing…

He opened his optics. Starscream was mere metres from his face, holding a grin so wide it almost spanned from audio to audio. Bluestreak screamed silence, his voice lost though he did not know how or where it had gone.

"Hello, little _Autobot_," he said calmly, in a melody that promised malevolence to come. Bluestreak cried out and raised his gun. Starscream struck out and they watched as the gun fell into the boggy water and began to sink. The two mechs turned back to look at each other. "Well that wasn't very _clever_ now, was it?" Starscream leaned away and took three paces back. He raised his own weapon. "Where are your _little friends_ to save you _now_?" Bluestreak began to scrabble wildly to get out of the branches. _He's going to kill me – he's going to kill me!_ His hands sunk down into the muddy bog and his feet never found purchase in the reeds that lay under the water. This was it: this was how he was going to offline. Starscream pulled the trigger.

Nothing happened.

"_What!_"

"Bluestreak!" Optimus's voice travelled to them clearly. Starscream whipped his head around in the direction of the voice, his weapon still on Bluestreak. This was his chance. Bluestreak pooled his remaining strength. There were no heroics. There was no valiant fight. Bluestreak _ran_.

End.

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A/N: For those of you niggling about why Starscream's weapon didn't go off… use your imagination! It's because the dampness of the swamp, along with the reeds, sludge, etc. prevented it from working properly. They had only been on the planet for three days – they weren't yet knowledgeable about the maintenance that would be required.

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**Bonus:**

A/N: The bonus chapter takes place three centuries before the Ark makes it's fateful journey to Earth. This is **_slash_** - in my profile I wrote: _"I will write mild and implied slash if requested, but nothing graphic"_. Then I wrote _this_. This is the first time I've written proper slash (as in 'not the "In-the-Rain fluff"'), and it's about as graphic as I'll get. Yes, I _can_ feasibly get more graphic. It's bloody long because of the intro, but if you're going to do something new, do it well the first time. Scared Bluestreak again.

_**This is non-consensual slash, i.e. rape.**_

Note: Due to this chapter, the rating has increased from 'T' to 'M'. 'M' fics do not show up on regular searches. If you decide that this chapter doesn't deserve an 'M' rating (please see ratings before making your judgement) please tell me and I will return the rating to 'T', making it more accessible to new readers. I believe that I have ranted enough now. Thank you..

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**Bonus: Scared Bluestreak.**

Cybertron was in no way a small planet. It's geography ranged from wide open plains the span of mega-miles to crammed slums, where every 'street' was an alley and anyone could be watching you from anywhere without your knowledge. One such slum was Sector Theta, Sub-section Sigma. The lighting had all long-since been out-shone by even the faintest star – darkness had claimed this whole sector long before Autobot or Decepticon, and would still champion it even when the section changed from side to side. Yet in the uninterrupted ebony, in amongst the shells of houses where there was no glint of even the movement of ghosts, an energy signature had been found: a power source.

The race to this minor power-source by both Decepticon and Autobot had led to an unrestrained battle between the two sides. Ironhide was guarding Ratchet, who was leaning over the unconscious and seriously injured form of Sunstreaker. The red twin was laying into the grounded Decepticons with his pile-drivers, with all the fury of a sibling's love. The minibots charged and held back more of the fighters, but only the gunners could do anything about the Decepticons in the sky. Hound and Trailbreaker shot barrages into the heavens. As soon as one fell, another arrived to take it's place. It was becoming more and more obvious to Bluestreak that they were outnumbered. He aimed at a flyer and reluctantly pulled the trigger. Another mech went down that would never stand again. That was his fourth. Why was there all this death? He aimed. He fired. His fifth victim. His sixth. Was it really going to come down to one side living and one dying out altogether? Was he really on the losing side? He wanted an end – an end that would not come.

Starscream had taken notice of the laser fire coming from one of the taller slum buildings, as well as the number of his wing-mates going down. He turned and faced his guns towards the perpetrator that he knew had to be there. The mech inside was obviously aware of his presence: his approach elicited a few shots, then a greater number, until it finally became wild firing. His wing left took hits. With a vehement battle cry, he lost control, span and shattered through the building.

Bluestreak had no time to run – not even enough to turn around. The seeker ploughed through the splintered building and in mid-transformation, collided with him. Bluestreak's weapon was ripped from his hand by the force as he was powerfully dragged away from his hideaway spot – the weapon he knew he needed to live.

Bluestreak was falling. He could see the slums becoming further and further above him. He could see the anger-induced sneer on Starscream's face only metres over him. He could see seared wiring sparking from an ominously large crater in his own chassis. He could see, but his mind could not understand. There was no thought, and then… then there was the unrelenting slum darkness.

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Bluestreak's optics came online gradually. He could not tell at first whether his optics were working or not – there seemed to be no difference. As they adjusted their setting for the surroundings, he saw the slitted glow of a single pair of crimson red optics. The young gunner pulled back sharply. The Decepticon approached and towered domineeringly over him. So close – so very, very close. 

"Oh _good_ – you're finally _awake_: it wouldn't be much _fun_ without a reaction," the optics were bright enough to light the fierce, star-white teeth of the Decepticon Second-in-Command. The 'con's focus moved from his face to his chest-plate. His chassis – the armour plating covering it was missing! His hands rushed to feel for the damage. His chassis was… repaired?

"You – you did this?" Bluestreak asked, scolding himself for the way the pitch of his voice changed from normal to high and betrayed his fear. Starscream continued to grin.

"Don't be _grateful_ Autobot. Can't you realise? I need you alive if I'm to have my wicked ways with you."

"What do you mean by-" Starscream thrust himself down onto Bluestreak's thighs and pressed his helm against the young Autobot's. He could feel the younger mech shaking, _pulsing_ with fear. It felt _delicious_.

"Aren't you going to _fight back_, little Autobot?" It had not occurred to Bluestreak to do so – it really had not. He had been so shocked with what had happened – what _was_ happening – his mind was still trying to catch pace. He should fight back; he _needed_ to fight back.

The young gunner raised his arms and began pushing at the overbearing Decepticon. He pushed at Starscream's chest. Starscream smirked and only readjusted himself on Bluestreak's lap, crushing his thighs in his own. Bluestreak squirmed and gasped desperately. He shoved against the Decepticon's hips with little effect. Starscream began to snicker. He tried to force away those skilled and dangerous arms, yet with every effort he put in, Starscream repelled with what seemed to the dread -shook Autobot to be ungodly strength. Bluestreak whined at his hopelessness.

"Do you _see_ now, Autobot? You cannot fight against _me_, _I_ am your _superior_!"

"No! No! I won't let you kill me!" Bluestreak began hitting Starscream around the head in hysterical desperation. He would not be abused – he would not die here where there were no friends or where anyone would find him. "Help! Help! Prowl – Ironhide! Prime! Help m-!" Starscream violently took hold of Bluestreak's hands and pinned them to his sides, clasping his lips oppressively over Bluestreak's cries.

Bluestreak could feel his systems overheating with the intensity of the situation. His panic was rising and although the now dimmed voice of logic told him he would make things harder for himself by resisting, his body was not going to give in. Starscream drew his head away and watched, smiling as Bluestreak screamed at the top of his lungs and twisted and fought to be free. His efforts climaxed in one almighty roar of self-pity. It reverberated off of the dead slum walls mislaid amongst the black, before it too was lost. All energy spent, a shivering Bluestreak leaned away from Starscream and tilted his head back. He was panting heavily, trying to cool his systems. Starscream supported most of the Autobot trapped beneath him with his arms, grip tightening and loosening, tightening and loosening. The power coursing through Starscream – the power over another life – it was intoxicating! And he had barely even begun.

"_Listen_ little gunner – listen to the _peace_! There is _no-one_ around to save you – no-one but _me_ to hear your cries." In the distant dark above, Bluestreak could still hear the firing of gunshots. If someone up there heard him, they would need to hear him through the battle: it was not possible.

"I'm all alone," the fear-whispered words slipped out of his mouth without control.

"Not _completely_ alone."

Starscream advanced upon his prey. Bluestreak leaned away in revulsion, needing as much distance between them. It was exactly what Starscream wanted – the control was his whether Bluestreak admitted it, fought against him or accepted his fate. Bluestreak's back touched the floor and Starscream abruptly pressed himself onto him.

"What are you doing? I don't want this – I don't want this!"

"Shh, shhh," Starscream hissed gently. "Do exactly as I say and if you're a good little mech and satisfy me," Bluestreak cried out in plea. "I'll leave you alive for our next encounter." The Decepticon Second-in-Command brushed his face with his hand. Bluestreak grabbed Starscream's chin in an abrupt movement and began pushing away. Starscream was not impressed, but his over-exerted victim offered little resistance when he grabbed back the arm and pushed down forcefully. Bluestreak cried out again: he was completely at his mercy. "Cry _harder_, little Autobot. Cry _all_ you _want_. It's only you and _I_." Bluestreak screamed. Starscream was in a maniacal mind and he could feel his systems pulsing with arousal. He wanted to pleasure this Autobot – make him his and give him cause to yell some more. Oh, how wonderful it felt! He would not hold back any longer!

Starscream ran his hands the full length of Bluestreak's arms, smothering his cheeks and nose and neck with his lips. The Autobot in his control gasped and writhed and sniffed back cries that he knew would only drive his enemy onwards.

"I don't want this, I don't want this, I really, really don't want this-"

"Tough." Bluestreak continued to babble over Starscream until a hand was cupped over his mouth. "Has anyone _ever_ told you that you _talk_ too much?" The wide-eyed young mech finally said nothing, only stared pleadingly at his captor. "I know what _you_ would enjoy," Starscream smiled hungrily. His tongue lapped over Bluestreak's exposed circuitry, finding delicate and sensitive areas that produced audible gasps from the gunner.

"Please stop!"

"_Why?_" Starscream teased and stuck his tongue deep into his body. Bluestreak's back arched from the unwanted attention, only furthering his own disgusted pleasure.

"I don't want this! I don't want this!" Starscream seized the back of his head roughly and pulled it up to watch.

"You don't want my _interests_ visited upon your body? But, oh _look_!" Starscream stroked Bluestreak's arm and it visibly trembled. "See how you ripple at _my_ touch! _Watch_ Autobot! Watch me! Watch yourself! _Watch_ as your-" A piece of burning metal dug abruptly and heavily into the floor only metres away from them, remaining upright. Their startled faces could see a Decepticon insignia in the fading flames: Starscream recognised it as Thundercracker's right wing. He turned back to Bluestreak. "_Life_," he accented with another disconcerting grin, "goes on."

Still holding Bluestreak in his thigh-grip, Starscream removed his own chassis armour. The gunner had no energy left to resist and with his arms spread limp at his sides, he watched in silent horror as Starscream began plugging himself into his circuitry. The fire on the wing burned out and Bluestreak was left again to the smothering, all-encompassing bleakness. There was only Starscream. There was only himself. The Air Commander laid down on him as intimately as possible. In the moment Starscream made the final, well-fitted connection, Bluestreak convulsed. Starscream lifted his head and gave out a ragged sigh. The pleasure was not enough though: Bluestreak was still resisting him, and as long as he did not succumb, neither of them could be fully pleasured. Bluestreak shuddered once more as Starscream began to move up and down his body in a rocking motion. He felt his shoulders being nipped and licked, stroked and held, all in an effort to calm and soothe him and bring about his full submission. Every one of Starscream's thrusts was accented by a gentle moan or plea by the gunner in a mix of satisfaction, disgust, fright and confusion.

"No! No! Stop! Stop!"

"_Yield_ Autobot – give me your full _submission_! Do _not_ deny me, _Autobot_ – you _owe_ me." Bluestreak's will relented a little and the cycling pulse that had been building up between their systems was finally released. They groaned in chorus. Starscream took a-hold of his arms and body into one grasping embrace and kissed his lips gently. "See how _good_ it can feel? See what I can _do_ to you?" Bluestreak turned his face away and waited for it all to be over. Starscream took his time. He coaxed the younger mech further and further into obedience, enticing him with words, stroking, and threats. In a final moment of passion, Starscream grappled Bluestreak and roared, extracting one last squeal of satisfaction from his quarry. Once he had reached the heights he desired and could feel no more, Starscream unplugged, placed his armour back on, but denied Bluestreak his own.

Completely undaunted by Bluestreak's presence, Starscream turned his back to him and felt over to the nearest wall. Leaning back, he patted his leg. "Come here," he commanded. Bluestreak had not moved. "I warn you Autobot, if I have to come over there and drag you, I'll…" Slowly, Bluestreak raised himself onto his shaking hands and dragged his way over to Starscream's voice. He never once looked him in the optics. "Good boy." He clamped down on Bluestreak and forced him into a sitting position on his lap, the gunner's back against his chassis. Starscream continued to fondle Bluestreak's exposed internals and let out a sigh of contentment. He had complete control – full control over the weak and fragile 'bot that lay shivering in his arms. "You were a _very_ good boy, little one. I think I'll let you _live_ so that I may _take you_ again and _again_." Bluestreak said nothing. He looked sky-ward, mouth open and panting quietly, praying that no other Autobot would find out his shame, of when he lost himself in Cybertron's deepest dark.

End.

* * *

A/N: Yeah… opinions on this by slash fans would be appreciated please (keep reviews PG though, if you don't mind). 

Some of you may have picked up that Starscream's speech features a lot of italicised words. This is to mimic his (G1) speech, where he emphasised certain words.

Admittedly, I was reading Keiko Aosaki's 'Fanatical Delusions' (Also on-screen at the time I was typing this). Hopefully I haven't sub-consciously copied anything of hers, but if I have, it was purely unintentional. Must not read other fics whilst typing my own.


	5. On His Knees

A/N: A continuation from the 'Scared Bluestreak' bonus. Don't worry anti-slash fans – you don't need to read the previous chapter to understand this one. Season 1 timeframe, before the addition of the other Autobots.

* * *

**On-His-Knees**

The lights blinked countlessly. Teletran-1 went online and offline in synchronisation. Even the recharge-berths stuttered.

"Wonderful," Huffer growled and picked up another Cybertronian tool. "As if that battle with the Decepticons right inside our base wasn't enough, one of Wheeljack's whacky inventions just had to go and explode on us as well, didn't it?" He strained his vision as his light levels kept changing.

"Aw, cheer up, Huffer! It could be worse; I mean, at least we have some power and the damage isn't like it's unfixable, y'know, and it's not as though Ratchet has any patients down there in a critical condition now, is it?" Bluestreak smiled his gracefully childish grin. Though Huffer did not feel it, some of his connections relaxed slightly.

"Still… Wheeljack's _invention_ did more damage than the Decepticons! Did you see what it did to Sunstreaker's paintwork? He'll be going on about it for days!" The lights dimmed to a faint beam and the intervals between illumination and darkness became longer. "Ah, I need to get to the engine room: change about some of the feeds for a bit. You work on in here without me."

"Gotcha. Have fun and hope it doesn't take you too long now!" Huffer snorted and, true to his name, huffed off.

Bluestreak giggled and shook his head as the door closed behind the temperamental minibot. Bending down, he took up the tools that Huffer had left behind and began work. It had been a difficult battle – the shots inside the Ark had either meant hits to an Autobot's body or hits to the surrounding computers and machinery. Fighting in tight spaces had been strenuous – attempting to take the fight outside even more so. Even though the Decepticons had faced despairing odds, Megatron and his troops had fled only once they had reached minimal energy to take them back to base. Now Bluestreak loved Wheeljack: he was the happy sort that never failed to cheer him up. He always had time for others, despite his busy inventing schedule, and he never meant anyone any harm. But sometimes the amount of times his inventions backfired really put a strain on his relations with the other crew members – even with Bluestreak. And the timing of this invention's dynamic extermination could not have been worse.

Trailbreaker walked in. He kept moving his right wrist up and down, back and forth, testing the degree of freedom the repairs had given him.

"Need help?" He looked down at the gunner and the tools sprawled across the floor.

"Well, it's not very difficult and I'm sure I could complete it by myself, but as the humans say: 'two pairs of hands are better than one' and the job _would_ go quicker… if you don't mind that is." Trailbreaker responded by dropping down to Bluestreak's level and picking up the tools.

"What do you need me for?" He winked – which was more a quick head tilt for a mech with a visor. Bluestreak pointed to the damaged wires and a welder.

"Let's get those sorted." He looked at Trailbreaker, who, for some reason, was grinning away. He seemed to be in a very happy and playful mood.

"Got it." The power in the light filaments failed again and for a moment, the two mechs were thrown into shadows. It was then, in that quiet black echo, on his knees, Bluestreak had a flash from his past. He saw red optics only metres away from him – optics that he would rather not remember. They were right next to him! Sight and shapes and colour returned just as quickly as they had fled. Something felt wrong. As Bluestreak turned his head towards Trailbreaker, he noticed the concerned expression on the other mech's face. "Blue… what's wrong?" Bluestreak realised he was gaping fearfully at the other 'bot. A pulsating sigh dripped from his lip-components. He abruptly went back to repairs. "There's nothing to worry about, you know. I'm here."

In once final display, the illumination fluttered, guttered, died. And Bluestreak was alone in that darkness once more.

"Ah, the lights have gone again!" Bluestreak squeaked, his voice finding unused heights.

" But you're not alone Blue!" The voice grasped him roughly and pushed him against his chassis in a choking embrace. Bluestreak was back in the slums – back _there_ with _that_ Decepticon. The darkness strangled him, pushed heavily down. Strength was felling his systems.

"No! No! I won't let you have me!" He fought and kicked and screamed. "Let go! Let me go!" He could hear footsteps – others were coming! Others who might hurt him too!

"Blue! It's alright Blue!"

"No!" Bluestreak felt out and found a tool lying nearby. He raised it high into the black and thrust it down into his captor's thigh. Trailbreaker screamed out as sparks flew from his body. The grip relented and Bluestreak took his chance to be free. He ran. He ran through the shape-filled dark and tripped and stumbled away from the voice and the horror and lost himself in dust-stirring memories.

"Bluestreak! Come back, Blue!" He ran and the voice faded. The footsteps were gone.

* * *

"Bluestreak?" Prowl had rounded the corner near the bottom of the Ark, his only light-source his headlights. Some of the equipment down here had been converted to use the heat-source of the volcano as a power-supply. Huffer was still having trouble restoring power to the lighting; most of the Ark was still resting in shadow. In amidst the darkness, there the Datsun lay, down a small, unused corridor, staring into a dim little floor light. Prowl paused long enough to feel the relief inside him swell. Bluestreak had been found. "You scared Trailbreaker, Bluestreak – not to mention harmed him. What happened?" The gunner lay there in silence for another minute more. Just as Prowl thought he would have to prod the younger mech again for a response, Bluestreak spoke. 

"I don't want to remember, Prowl," the raspy whisper called. "I don't ever want to be taken back there again." Prowl did not fully understand the meaning of Bluestreak's comment – he knew that many things had happened to Bluestreak back on Cybertron that would scar any mech's psyche, yet he knew none of what had specifically happened to Bluestreak. Prowl picked Bluestreak up onto his knees and felt him convulse in his touch. The 'bot would not look at him and still had not taken his optics from that dim little light. Prowl wrapped his arms around him and did not speak until Bluestreak embraced him too.

"Bluestreak, we're here for you. We may never understand fully, nor be able to take your fears away, but we will look after you." Prowl paused. "You will never be alone again. Trust me, Bluestreak. I'll do everything I can to make sure they never hurt you again." It was painful. Bluestreak's grip tightened as he felt the pain of some of that memory escaping his mind, becoming reality. Yet he knew that once this feeling was over, that pain had slipped from his memory forever. Although he would always carry that memory, as long as he had Prowl and the others, it could never harm him again.

End.

* * *

A/N: It occurred to me that Cybertron could save a bloody fortune on electricity bills if they stopped lighting all those unused corridors near the centre of the planet. That's why they all have that energy problem now – too many lights left on at night. 

There will now be a brief two-week hiatus in fics as real life takes control.


	6. Loved By

A/N: Requested by Silver.

* * *

**Loved (By).**

It was getting too much. It was overwhelming him; it was too strong – this battle. Brawn fell, Ironhide fell… the Decepticons were fighting Prime within physical distance. Thundercracker went down by his gun, Skywarp teleported out of danger. Starscream flew off to deal with his own agenda. He was losing count of who was where, who was still in the fight and who was out. Where was Megatron? The Decepticon leader and his second-in-command were out of his field of view, and yet the rest of the forces had not retreated. It did not bode well.

"Yearrgh!" Blitzwing stuttered from the rock defending Bluestreak's back and shot his weapon hand.

"No – wait!" Digits lurched out and lifted Bluestreak from the ground, crushing his neck inch by inch. His free hand pounded into Bluestreak's chassis again and again, dents becoming wider, deeper. "Help…me…" he called weakly to his comrades still standing. Blitzwing's face grew hungrier and hungrier, coming closer to slaking his sadistic desires. Bluestreak's chest buckled. It would give way – all it would take is two more hits. "Someone…please…" Blitzwing's hand plunged through and into Bluestreak's chest, clutching tightly and wrenching out his wires. The Decepticon grinned and shivered with pleasure when his captive shrieked as loudly as any sound in the battle. He paused to take in the moment.

"Night-night, Autobot b-" Blitzwing's chest exploded, sending sparking fragments into Bluestreak himself. The terrible hands wavered until Bluestreak was free to fall away. His body shut down from the pain.

There was this distant voice, calling him. Ah, yes – it was Prowl. And… he was being moved.

* * *

Prowl dodged across the Oregon plains, his young companion slung tightly over his shoulder, his grip as secure as if it was holding was holding on to Bluestreak's very spark. Rumble and Frenzy saw his approach. They took out their pile-drivers and began to shake the ground. Prowl pushed forward, balance unstable and nearly dropping his companion. He could see the trench in front of him – he could see where Ratchet had set up his field base. The ground turned and Prowl's feet failed. He shot his rifle at the Decepticon brothers but he missed them entirely. He could not do this on his own. 

The Lamborghini twins had noticed the tapes and Prowl's efforts. Their optics narrowed, trying to discern what Prowl was carrying towards them, and then it all became clear. With one mighty roar, the gold and garnet twins chased toward the cassettes, knocking both of them to the soil. Prowl steadied himself and continued onward, the trench only metres away. As he passed the scrapping brothers, his allies turned to look at him. The faces said simply: _save him._

"Ratchet!" Prowl called just as he jumped into the trench. His knees gave way and Bluestreak was jolted slightly, yet he made no noise. Ratchet turned from his administrations on Ironhide who was sprawled out against a wall. When he laid optics upon his next patient, a curse slipped through his teeth. The semi-conscious Ironhide gaped in shock. "Ratchet! Help him!"

"Let me close up Ironhide and I'll be with him as soon as I can!" Prowl laid Bluestreak out on the alcove's floor, shielding him from debris with his own body. Bluestreak was barely aware of anything going on around him. Those white figures… who were they?

"Prowl…" Bluestreak called out in desperation, not expecting an answer. A hand gripped his own.

"I'm here for you, Bluestreak."

"Prowl… don't leave me!" He knew despite his words that Prowl would have to go. He had other things to do – more important things to do to secure their victory.

Prowl surprised him.

"I have no intention to, Bluestreak," Prowl leaned in and kissed the younger Autobot on the helm. "You rest now. Ratchet will take good care of you." Bluestreak's eyes dimmed. "And I'll be here when you wake up."

End.

* * *


	7. Stuck

A/N: Here is something small to tide you all over whilst I finish my work off. Requested by ThatRedCar.

* * *

**Stuck.**

"Stop right there you Decepticon scum!" Brawn, Cliffjumper, Warpath and Bumblebee took the lead in chasing Ravage and Frenzy through the waterworks' tunnels. Every footstep taken ended in a solid splash, resonated against the damp tunnel's walls. Sideswipe and Tracks held the rear along with Bluestreak. The minibots were far more suited to the cramped conditions than their larger Autobot brethren. Bluestreak watched as Warpath and Cliffjumper dived onto Ravage. The metal panther instantly managed to squirm free, his claws thrusting into Warpath's leg and easily leaving him disabled. Bluestreak did not have time to stop: he leapt over Warpath and Cliffjumper to catch up. Taking a split second to look back, he could see Cliffjumper tending to his minibot friend.

If only they had been out in the open – if only Bluestreak had been able to stand still with a clear shot!

"You won't be getting away that easily, you Decepticon dastards!" Brawn's passionate shouts echoed against the walls, the sound of splashing water becoming louder and quicker. He followed the others around the bend and noticed that there were no other side-passages. What was more, there was a grid covering the exit. He took out his gun.

"Brawn! Bumblebee! Get to the sides – give me a clear shot!" Surprisingly, Brawn followed his request and gave him the visibility he needed. Bluestreak took aim for Frenzy's leg motors, squeezing the trigger gently. Frenzy could not escape his view.

Windcharger dropped down from an overhead access hole – straight into Bluestreak's focus. His gun fired. He pulled his arm upwards and watched as Windcharger knelt in the water. Bluestreak stood stiff, waiting – hoping that the warrior would move. He had not meant to hit the minibot – if he had known, he would not have fired. Sideswipe and Tracks raced in front of him, just as Windcharger began to stand. Bluestreak shuddered with relief. His legs found their momentum once more and he ran forward. He watched as Ravage slipped through the grate, only slowing for an astro-second. Frenzy could not slide through and had to pause to widen the gap. Brawn almost had him. The Decepticon tape forced himself through, Brawn and Windcharger chasing after him. Bumblebee was next in, followed by Sideswipe. Bluestreak took his chances and dived for the gap in front of Tracks – tripping on the bottom bar section and falling between the poles. His left arm was trapped by his chassis. Due to the way Frenzy had bent the grate, he had managed to fit his one door wing through the gap, but was unable to get it out again. His legs were at such an angle that he was not able to get a strong enough grip on the mossy ground.

"Uh-oh," he said.

"What do you mean: 'uh-oh'?" Tracks asked, sounding none too pleased.

"I can't move! I'm stuck!" Tracks growled with annoyance and pulled at the bars. Bluestreak was completely wedged in and Tracks could not get a grip on the bars where he needed to.

"You really are stuck!" The Corvette hissed, listening as the steps of the others disappeared into the distance. "Bluestreak is stuck! Go on without us!" Tracks shouted. Eventually, an echoed reply from Bumblebee returned to them from somewhere:

"Don't worry – we'll come back for you later!" Bluestreak sighed and relented, feeling his face-plate heat up under Tracks's hands-on-hips stance. Somewhere from behind, Cliffjumper was dragging Warpath. All it took was one look.

"How in the name of Cybertron did _that_ happen?!"

End.

* * *


	8. Ill

A/N: I'm back from my little hiatus. Know that although I didn't want it, it was necessary. Non-slash, though you might not believe it.

* * *

**Ill.**

"Atchoo!"

"Got a virus, Hound?" Ratchet said, looking over his patient on the med-bay examination table.

"Seems like it."

"I'll take a look in a cycle – make sure it isn't serious. Let me finish on Bluestreak first." Ratchet carefully took the tweezers out of Bluestreak, dragging with him a long string of swamp weed which brushed past every circuit in his chassis. Shivers ran through his body – just like with every other piece that Ratchet had hauled from him – and the mech squirmed on the operating table.

"Is that the last?" Bluestreak asked.

"No," Ratchet bluntly replied. "Don't move your back: I have to get to your spinal-column."

"Atchoo!" Bluestreak looked at Hound and smiled.

"Now where did you go on this planet to pick up a mechanical virus?" Hound's chest heaved.

"Well, I got into close-combat with Thrust the other day… didn't think he looked too good – heh, he went down pretty easily too – but other than that, I don't know."

"I know that you've been exploring some of the unused parts of the Ark; it is quite possible that you picked up something from one of the long-sealed rooms," Ratchet explained, manoeuvring his body to get a better angle at Bluestreak's inner-workings. "But picking something up from a Decepticon does seem to be a more likely option. Now Bluestreak: hold _very_ still." Ratchet emphasised his last three words with reduced speed.

"Atchoo!" Bluestreak watched Hound as he tried desperately to hold back more sneezing. Ratchet was diligently attempting to get at the swamp weed but he could feel the tweezers missing and grating along his spine. It was a horrible sensation. Worse was this _other_ sensation _building_ in his body: this suppressed weight in his chassis, growing and moving into his fuel-pump and air-regulators fought to be free. The tweezers clamped on the swamp weed.

"Got it!" Ratchet cackled with a triumphant grin.

"Atchoo!" Bluestreak's back arched and came back down, taking only the tip of the weed out of his system.

"Bluestreak!" Ratchet scowled with increased irritation.

"Oops," said Hound simply; his virus had spread.

* * *

"Blue Boy? You there?" Bluestreak could not lift his head from his bunk – the world span too much.

"Not here – not in!" He replied in tired delirium.

"Then who's that then?"

"No-one! No-one's here!" Hound sighed and tried the door. By luck, Bluestreak had forgotten to lock it. The sick mech lay on his back, optics staring dimly in Hound's direction. His respiratory cycles were quick and shallow.

"I hope you don't mind me coming in. I've brought you some food." The green jeep held up a receptacle of oil.

"Oh, thank you. Please… take it away." With great effort, Bluestreak turned the other way.

"Ratchet says you haven't come out of your room in two days." The Datsun hummed his agreement. "Ratchet says you haven't consumed anything in two days." The young gunner hummed his agreement once more. Hound walked over to the bed, turned Bluestreak's head towards him and put the fuel to his lip-components. "Drink," he commanded softly. Bluestreak grudgingly took a few sips to be rid of his unwanted helper and tried to put his head back down, where the world did not spin nearly as much. "Drink more." A pathetic little wail left Bluestreak's vocaliser, yet he did as he was told. When Bluestreak was done, Hound put the remaining liquid onto a nearby table and began quietly stacking some of Bluestreak's CDs currently lying on the floor. He checked on Bluestreak one last time before he crept silently out of the room.

* * *

Within days, Bluestreak was back on his feet again as if he had never been sick at all. Most of his time ill was a distant, almost lost memory… but he remembered someone coming to pay him visits and check up on him.

"Hey Ratchet, thanks for looking after me when I was unwell," he told the boxy medic.

"No problem, Bluestreak," Ratchet chimed as he fixed Powerglide's right wing.

"Heh – I didn't know you would come and visit me everyday though. Thanks – it was nice." With this comment from Bluestreak, Ratchet looked away from his duties, puzzled.

"But I didn't come visiting you everyday."

"…Oh." It was now Bluestreak's turn to be puzzled. He could not think who else would have nursed him. As he returned to his quarters, Hound passed him in the hallway.

"Good to see you up and about Blue!"

"Ah, hi Hound!" Bluestreak noticed that Hound was carrying a small container of oil. "You working in your room? It's not often I see you taking snacks outside the common room."

"Oh no, this is for Trailbreaker – he's come down with my bug too! Well, can't stop to chat – see you later!" Hound scurried past before Bluestreak had the chance to utter another word. Watching the jeep walk by with the cup in his hand, Bluestreak suddenly knew who it was that had looked after him when he was sick. A grin etched its way onto his face. One day, he would repay the favour.

End.

* * *

A/N: The virus is based off of a virus I got whilst doing two assignments before Christmas. I can't explain to you how much fun it _wasn't_. And now I'm ill again. #Cheers weakly#. Sorry this chapter isn't too great, but I can't alter it any more and I need to get back into the kick of things. 


	9. With Animals

A/N: Requested by Syntia.

* * *

**With-Animals.**

"It's arrived! It's arrived!" Cliffjumper carried the crate easily in his hands – what would have been a difficult task for a human was easy for a minibot. Skyfire skulked nearby in the shadows, arms folded in a stance resembling a sulking child.

"I don't know why I couldn't have gone and picked up the parts myself," he muttered. Cliffjumper put the box down in the middle of the Command Centre.

"Bureaucracy, Skyfire," Sparkplug told him as he took a crowbar to the crate. "Red tape – and another reason to add some more taxes to your bills."

"Hmph – I know, I just wanted to have a reason to go to England, that's all."

"Nothin' stoppin' ya, Skyfire," Sparkplug replied. The crate lid relented and the gathered mechs and humans peered inside; the box contained a number of different vehicle parts, from cogs and gears to windshield wipers and spoilers.

"Hey, is that part damaged?" Cliffjumper asked, looking at Wheeljack and pointing to an exhaust pipe.

"Nah – they come like that. Wait 'til it's fixed onto the rest o' Gears and it'll look jus' dandy." Wheeljack picked up the box, leaving the lid where it was on the floor. "I'd better get these bits-an'-bobs down to _Ol' Cranky_ before yer minibot friend does 'is head in." The Lancia walked along the corridor towards the med-bay, Cliffjumper and Sparkplug following close behind in some fevered conversation.

Bluestreak looked at Skyfire, who for some reason seemed to be staring intently at the lid to the box, a frown of concentration on his faceplate.

"What's the matter?"

Skyfire pointed to the box lid and Bluestreak went over to it. He could not find anything special about it whatsoever. Picking it up, he gave it to Skyfire, just as his optics caught sight of movement in one of the corners. "Oh!"

There was a small white sac in the corner and many tiny, many-legged creatures were crawling out.

"Spiders," Skyfire said, staring into each of the creatures' eyes. Some of the spiders had found Bluestreak's hand and began crawling up, the tiny little feet causing small sensations on his sensitive plating. Bluestreak took his hand away from the box and began twisting his wrist joint with the movement of the arachnids. Skyfire and Bluestreak watched with the simplistic awe of children as the spiders jumped, crawled and dangled from the young Datsun's wriggling fingers.

"What have you two got?" The familiar voice of Sparkplug caused the two mechs to turn.

"Spiders!" Said Bluestreak, with joy disproportionate to the situation.

"_Money_ spiders," Skyfire added, who also seemed far too happy to Sparkplug. The human crossed his arms across his chest.

"Well, they can't live in here – they'll find nothing to eat! And do you really want them under your plating, getting into your gears?"

"No," Bluestreak replied with a down-turned head.

"Take them outside and let them go free," Sparkplug told him, before turning around, picking up a tool-kit and walking away. Skyfire picked up the crate lid.

"Come on, Bluestreak," the giant scientist Autobot coerced softly. "Let's set them loose." Bluestreak cradled his spider-infested hand and followed Skyfire to the outside of the Autobot base, where the jet put the crate lid at an angle in soft Spring breeze. Bluestreak held his hand out and saw the little spiders dangling from silken strands. The wind took hold and the spiders swung like pendulums, until finally breaking free and riding on the zephyr into a strange new world.

End.

* * *

A/N: Money spiders: Cutest little eight-legged fear machines _ever_. 


	10. Exhausted

A/N: After being away for a while, I hope this is worthy or a 'return'. Enjoy.

* * *

**Exhausted.**

It had been a simple patrolling mission: move along your designated route, call for back-up if you spotted trouble. It had been a simple patrolling mission… so why had it gone so wrong?

"Stop it! You're killing him!"

"That's entirely the point!" Motormaster swung his blade in circles through the air, dramatizing his movements as he shoved the blade deep into Bluestreak's chassis. The crunching sound was sickening – but what was even more worrying to Smokescreen was the cracking. Bluestreak's entire body throttled with spasms under the pain. A scream ripped out – more from the wound than from Bluestreak's vocaliser. Suddenly his voice cut off, and as Motormaster withdrew his sword from Bluestreak's sparking chest, many broken parts of vital components fell out as well. Bluestreak heaved with the effort of cycling air that he could not find. Smokescreen flailed in Deadend's and Breakdown's grips, unable to do anything but yell and plead with the Stunticon leader. Smokescreen was no medic, but he could tell if Bluestreak did not get medical attention within half an Earth hour… Primus, he felt so _helpless_!

"Please stop it! He's too young! Take me instead!" All such clichéd phrases; he wondered if he actually meant them… but he had to say something.

"Too _young_?" Deadend snorted. "He's _older_ than _us_! Besides, wait your turn; we'll get to you. Everything must die eventually…" The dark grey Stunticon faded off morosely.

"And today it's you, not us!" Wildrider cackled, kicking and scattering what had once been Bluestreaks internals. He then grabbed Bluestreak's legs and dragged him across the old river bed, propping him up astro-inches in front of Smokescreen, faceplate-to-faceplate. The gunner's optics were unfocussed and pale. His head rolled back and forth, completely unaware of his surroundings or his torturers. Gargling noises came from within Bluestreak's throat as a steady stream of fuel and fluids escaped from his mouth and broken chest. This was where he was going to die.

"Look at your _friend_, Autobot. He's gonna _die_ and it's gonna be _all your fault_, 'cause there's nothin' you can do to save him!" Dragstrip pointed and laughed mockingly.

"Please, if you help him I'll do anything you want!"

"We _want_ you both to suffer!" Motormaster stabbed his sword back through the void of what had once been Bluestreak's chest and pierced through to the other Datsun's. Smokescreen called shrilly as he felt the tip of the blade touch his spark. He dared not move. He dared not speak. All the time the Stunticons were grinning at him. All the time, Bluestreak was dying. He knew Motormaster would not kill him there and then – he would want him to watch Bluestreak die, and once the younger Datsun had finished suffering and he had given up all hope, they would start the process again on him. The blade withdrew.

"Release him," Motormaster commanded. The others looked confused.

"But boss, why-"

"Do as I _say_!" Motormaster's fist smashed Wildrider into the nearby rock face, scraping his paintwork and taking off some of Smokescreen's earlier smoke, but not doing much further damage because of his protective force-field. Breakdown and Deadend immediately recoiled from Smokescreen. In a moment that no one could have predicted, Motormaster offered Smokescreen his sword. "Take it." He grinned. "And end the suffering of your comrade. Or would you prefer to wait a little longer for a false hope that'll never come? At least we'll get the chance to hurt him some more." Wildrider burst into laughter again. Smokescreen could end Bluestreak's life and end his suffering… but that would be admitting defeat and the Stunticons would have won. But if he did not do anything, Bluestreak would die unless help came within the next cycle. Either way, they would kill _him_ once he was through.

The Stunticons stood there in silence a moment longer, surrounding him as Bluestreak quaked on the floor, his mind no longer there. The gunner would never be the same again after this – it would haunt them both. Smokescreen squeezed his hands tight, suddenly realising that the sword was in his hands. When had he taken it? Breakdown began stomping his foot in a slow beat.

"Kill him! Kill him! Kill him! Kill him!" Dragstrip whispered in primal ferocity. The others quickly joined in.

"Kill him! Kill him! Kill him! Kill him!" Smokescreen tried to listen over their shouts for the approach of tyres. He could hear nothing. His optics went from Motormaster's sword in his hand to Bluestreak and back to the exit from the riverbed. He could run – he could leave Bluestreak to die anyway. But the Stunticons would catch up with him eventually. Smokescreen knelt down beside Bluestreak and took his hand.

"Don't worry, Blue Boy," he squeezed. "I'm here. I won't let you down." Smokescreen stood up again. He did not look away from Bluestreak. His actions had to lead to the greatest good.

He raised the sword.

To be continued.

* * *


	11. Bath Time

A/N: Please send in prompts as I now only have one left to write.

This was requested as mild/implied slash, but you're okay to read up until the scene/section-break.

* * *

**Bath-Time.**

"How is he Prime? Is he alright?" Smokescreen unconsciously swayed from side to side, his body unable to keep still despite the strange inner calm his mind had found.

"Ratchet is still looking him over, Smokescreen." Prime placed a hand on Smokescreen's shoulder. "But… he doesn't think that Bluestreak will survive." The words passed over Smokescreen's head.

"Oh," he said at last. "It's good that you came when you did, Prime. It's good that you came when you did." Smokescreen vaguely remembered these words being spoken before. It all seemed so distant now. Hours had passed; _hours_. No one had asked him what he had intended to do with Motormaster's sword; even the brashest minibots had refused to judge him, unsure what they would have done in such a position. Watching Prowl and Jazz, Hound, Mirage and Trailbreaker and even the Lamborghini twins squatting on the floor, waiting for news, it all seemed so surreal.

_He'll be mentally scarred for life_, the psychological part of Smokescreen thought. _We'll never see that same, smiling Bluestreak again. It may take decades – possibly centuries – before he can bury the memory long enough to function like this again_.

Ratchet came out of the med-bay, his chassis heaving with the effort of ventilation. He made no attempt to look refined and collapsed, his back hitting the wall. Dour optics stared at Prime.

"What's the news?" The soft and hesitant tone of Prime's voice did not hide the truth that he expected the worst. Ratchet steadied himself against the wall a moment longer, his mouth working in silence.

"He's…he's stabilised." There were audible cries of relief. "And… I can't believe it, but he's conscious. He shouldn't be conscious…" Ratchet muttered to himself. "He just shouldn't be."

"I have to see him," Smokescreen said.

"Now is not the time."

"I _have_ to see him," Smokescreen insisted. Ratchet eyed him up and down, knowing that Smokescreen probably blamed himself for what had transpired.

"You and Prime, and only you and Prime," the CMO responded, his body shaking unsteadily as he went back into the med-bay.

"I'll go get Ratchet something to drink," Mirage whispered, passing his hand on Trailbreaker's shoulder as he moved by. The other Autobots tried to peek inside the med-bay, but the low-level lighting and Prime's large shape prevented them from seeing the 'bot of their concerns.

"Bluestreak?" The form of the Datsun gunner lay on the furthest side of the room, pale topaz eyes staring at the ceiling. His head turned slowly and a haggard face softened into a gleaming smile.

"Oh, hey Smokescreen!"

"Bluestreak? Are you okay?"

"Ah, don't you worry about me! I'm tough I am! Heh-heh. Sorry for all that worry I put you through – I didn't mean to cause you any trouble and…" Bluestreak babbled on. Prime looked relieved that the same old Blue had returned to them, but Smokescreen felt confused; Bluestreak should be mentally damaged – he should be _psychologically scarred_. There was no way that this would not have hurt him – he should not be his normal happy self…

It occurred to Smokescreen then – a shattering revelation: Bluestreak had been damaged before… and had never recovered. Bluestreak had been scarred from the start, and so everything would carry on as 'normal'.

"…lost a lot of internals, but Ratchet did a great job of putting me all back together again, don't you think?" Bluestreak carried on grinning, waiting for a response. Smokescreen fell to his knees. He began shaking, and then he wept. Uncontrollably, he wept. The others misbelieved he cried with relief.

* * *

Almost a month had passed before Bluestreak was allowed out of Ratchet's tender care. Everyone in the base had visited him at one time or another, many of them bringing gifts. He had amassed such a collection that Ratchet had to clear it away to get to one of his cabinets. Ah, that had made him chuckle. The pistons in his legs moved with a stiffness that had come from not using them in such a long while. He wondered if he had used them at all, in fact, considering how much of his body was now new.

Bluestreak paused in the dim, lifeless corridor. The voices from the main recreational rooms did not carry here. He had not slept well recently – the scene with the Stunticons played over in his head, sometimes warped or carried further by his imagination. He had dreamt that Smokescreen had tried to fight the gestalt team and got killed, with Bluestreak dying moments later. He had dreamt that Smokescreen had killed him, or left him to suffer out of sadistic pleasure. In amongst these warped memories, another also usually arose; the fall of his lost city. It had left him manic at night, his will refusing the weight of his body's cry for sleep. Perhaps tonight, if he bathed or performed some other winding-down ritual, his processor would not search for memories in the darkest sections of his spark.

Bluestreak decided that he would not bother with the wash-racks tonight – there would be too many mechs to stare at him and he did not feel like talking. He would try the bathing pools: he had not been there in a while and they were usually quiet. He began to hum tunelessly to keep out stray thoughts as his legs carried him to the bathing chambers. He could not see or hear another mech anywhere. Had there been a battle? Had he missed something? Had they _all_ abandoned him? Encroaching paranoia fled as Bluestreak opened the door and beheld Sunstreaker, already in the tub.

"Ah, Blue Boy! Good to see you! Come join me." The mighty yellow warrior looked clean enough already – Bluestreak was sure that those were fresh water droplets from the wash racks that were on Sunstreaker's shoulders. The young gunner obliged him and settled into the container at the opposite end. He could not understand how modern western humans had such a problem with bathing with their own gender – it had been done in the past and was acceptable in spas and other such places.

"Do you have the wax I gave you?" Sunstreaker asked, polishing his left forearm with a rag as he spoke.

"Ah, not with me. I left it in my quarters." Sunstreaker shrugged.

"Perhaps I'll let you use a little of my own stuff, then."

"Um, thanks." To Bluestreak's relief, Sunstreaker did not try to solicit many words from him. The two mechs lay in the oil-like substance, cleaning their own selves in silence. Bluestreak still could not find it within himself to relax. He studied the new armour on his hand: the body work was exactly the same as his old armour – _exactly_ the same. He was surprised – he had expected a few differences. Bluestreak squeezed the liquid soap into his hands and reached for his back. His arm abruptly came to a halt with a worn and bruised sensation. "Ah!"

"Still not completely functional again yet, I see?" Sunstreaker intoned. "Look – let me help you." Sunstreaker waded over and took the soap from the younger mech's hands before Bluestreak could protest. He roughly turned Bluestreak around and began applying pressure in massaging circles on Bluestreak's back. "You got a bit dusty from waiting around Blue. You'd never see _me_ get like this." Sunstreaker held out his hand as if gesturing to some form of dirt. Bluestreak could see nothing. "Keep still and I'll add a wax coating to your roof after this."

In the company of another, Bluestreak felt that he could at last find peace. He relaxed into Sunstreaker's grip and felt his eyes slowly closing shut.

"You're not drifting off on me, are you, Blue Boy?" Sunstreaker enquired, a sliver of warm mirth in his voice.

"No! No, no… not at all." The yawn was barely hidden. Bluestreak's optics did not fight to stay open and his head began to loll to one side as he finally eased into restfulness. In the company of a friend, there were no nightmares.

End.

* * *

A/N: And it is 2:50 in the morning here now, so I shall be off to sleep too. 


	12. Flirty

**Flirty.**

Sometimes the battles with the Decepticons left the Autobots more than physically drained. When there had been another deadlock in a never-ending war and no one felt that they could continue any further, the Autobots took Junction number fifty-six off the highway and followed an old, no longer maintained road to a little dirt track. This is where they came to race and raise their morale in front of their human onlookers. Humans were, after all, so easily impressed – such a simple thing as changing from robot form to alt-form awed them.

Tonight, Raoul had managed to pull the regulars – Tracks and the Lamborghini twins – down to the arena. Somehow, Bumblebee, Bluestreak, Cliffjumper, Warpath and Skids had also been coaxed in to joining the gathering.

"I hope you're all lookin' your best," Raoul spoke to them from Track's interior. "Because, damn, if we don't have some hot babes there tonight!"

"What you find 'hot' might to us be as boring as a water boiler. Remember, we aren't flesh like you, Raoul," Tracks sniffed.

"T' state the obvious," Raoul rebuked.

"So what are we gonna find there, huh?" Bluestreak was on edge with excitement. "How many people will there be and will there be music and you said that there'd be fuel there I hope there's fuel there because I haven't refuelled yet toda-"

"Relax, you can eat there," Raoul replied, sinking further down into his seat.

"Well, I hope so, because I second Bluestreak's desire for sustenance," Skids included.

"Nearly there!" Sideswipe commented with almost giddy cheerfulness. His statement was proven true when they began to hear loud bass music; the melody was lost under the beat.

As they made their way off the last of the old road and into the track, they joined half a dozen other Earth vehicles racing around the trail. Fires burned in old drums and where flames caught printing chemicals on old cardboards, greens and blues flashed briefly. Men and women stood or sat about in groups, none wearing more than a pair of shorts and in the cases of the women, _sometimes_ bikini tops. After examining the scene in his long denim shorts and shirt, Raoul felt decidedly overdressed. "Jazz would love this – shame he couldn't come this time," he said, chuckling at the recent memory of Ratchet and Wheeljack cornering the Porsche in the med-bay.

As soon as they arrived Raoul hopped out and all eight of the Autobots transformed. It came as no surprise when some of the audience rushed over and gaped at them, and Raoul began introducing each of them to the women in turn.

"And this here is Sunstreaker and Sideswipe." Gold and Garnet were wearing their most charismatic grins, bowing to the ladies and making sure their latest admirers managed to see them from every good angle.

"Hey, watch this!" Sunstreaker transformed and began speeding around the track, easily passing all other cars and splattering them with mud formed from the previous night's rain. The women giggled and wooed over him and his brother, who was soon following his example. Tracks was trying to impress the females with talk of his deeds and showing them his weaponry arsenal. Warpath was similarly trying to impress everyone in sight. Bumblebee and Skids soon joined a group for conversation… leaving Bluestreak to his own devices. He watched as Sideswipe played up to his audience and earned their admiration, while Sunstreaker tried his best not to gripe over the mud splattered over his feet. Without realising, he had sat down on one of the grassier banks and a group of humans had clambered all over him. One of the females was gossiping inanely at him.

"Huh? Sorry – what was that?"

"I said: 'what tricks can you do?' C'mon! Wanna show _us_ how impressive you are?" Bluestreak stared from the twins to the track to the semi-naked humans resting against his chassis. It was nice to have attention – even if he did have to earn it. Finally, he set them all down and made the effort to calmly walk to the track. Sunstreaker and Sideswipe lay down and began arguing amongst themselves. He waited until he had the humans' attention. When he thought he had the eyes of most of the crowd… the show would begin.

Raoul watched as Bluestreak ran onto the track, jumped into the air and somersaulted into car mode. His Datsun form landed heavily on the ground but immediately picked up speed, spraying mud at all the cars that were unfortunate to be directly behind him. He effortlessly weaved in and out of the other drivers, in some cases turning himself around and going between two vehicles in the opposite direction. The twins sat there…stunned. He made it all look so controlled – so _easy_. They had never believed such an unwieldy alt-form capable of any form of skilled driving.

As Bluestreak made one final approach towards his audience, he slid to a near stop – coating the twins' chassis in a thick pelt of mud. Neither was impressed any longer. Before his motion was done he transformed back to his robot form and with hands on hips, he finished beside his female audience with a pose and a smirk of such calibre it could rival that of a Decepticon Air Commander. Mud splattered his legs, but other than that, only a splodge of mud marred his cheek. Suddenly all of the humans were enthralled by his presence, racing over to touch him and ask if he could do it again. Many wanted to get inside his interior. The other Autobots roused themselves from the surrealism and continued their conversations – all except for the Lamborghinis. Their mouths gaped open and shut for a while before it occurred to Sunstreaker that Bluestreak had taken attention away from _him_. His optics narrowed with displeasure.

"…You _tart_," he said at last. Bluestreak cackled.

* * *

**Bonus:**

A/N: This was actually written as the first part, but I wanted to put the 'slash' part second. Slash was not requested, but for some reason it came out like that. Hrmm...

* * *

**Bonus: Flirty Bluestreak.**

He looked so strong and agile to Bluestreak – a swift and silent untamed beast, like a node-owl or lithium-wolf. He was so coldly beautiful; the fact that that no one truly knew whose side he was on only added excitement to the danger. And although this mech had an entirely different function in the war compared to Bluestreak's… he was, at the wick of it all, a gunner like himself. This gave Bluestreak the perfect reason to strike up a conversation.

"Hi there, Mirage," Bluestreak called in sweet, dulcimer tones.

"Oh, hello Bluestreak," Mirage replied, busy cleaning his weaponry in the warm Spring air.

"_My_, that's a _big_ gun you have there, Mirage," Bluestreak said almost reverently as he stood directly behind the spy. Mirage stopped his cleaning and swivelled to look at Bluestreak, full concern, full confusion spread across his faceplate.

"Er, why, thank you." The gun was the same one he had used day in, day out since joining the Autobot cause; he could not understand why Bluestreak suddenly felt the need to comment on it.

"Well, er, have you used it lately, Mirage? It doesn't look like you've used it recently and I don't think I've seen you practice with it for the past three mega-cycles so-"

"-No, Bluestreak, I haven't used it recently," The Ligier replied politely but firmly, very aware that when Bluestreak began ranting, it was hard to get him to stop.

"Oh." Bluestreak did not know what to say next and for an awkward moment, Mirage continued to polish and clean his weapon as the young gunner's optics burned into his back. He considered going invisible. "Well, Mirage, I think I saw the perfect target for you to use that big weapon on." The Datsun grinned as Mirage's curiosity suddenly piqued.

"Really? What is it? Where?"

"Well, I've got patrol duty soon, but in two cycles I'll meet you by the grassy knoll in the forest and show you myself." Bluestreak smiled and all but skipped away, never giving Mirage a chance to reply.

* * *

Bluestreak could barely hide his anticipation as he made his way to the knoll. All the way through his patrol, he had been impatiently waiting, jabbering on to Hound about anything and everything unrelated to the hunter to keep his mind away from Mirage. Close to the end of the patrol, Bluestreak had almost moved Hound to the point where even the mild-mannered jeep had been prepared to tell him to shut up. They had not parted on the best of terms, but nothing could dampen Bluestreak's mood right now. 

The spot that Bluestreak had chosen was secluded and few mechs ever came this far into the forest. The ground seemed damp though – possibly from the mist and dew earlier that morn. _Ah well,_ Bluestreak thought. _He's not as proud over his body as Sunstreaker or Tracks – he won't mind a bit of moss or mud_. He smirked. _He might actually enjoy it._ Bluestreak closed his optics to the dappled light and listened to the birds and the breeze in the pines. He did not so much as hear Mirage approach as _feel_ him; a 'weight' – light and lithe though it was – that barely registered as an anomaly in such a natural place. He opened his optics and found the object of his lust waiting him on the bank below the knoll.

"Bluestreak?" Mirage called out, the wind scattering the remains of last Autumn's leaves against his feet.

"Right up here, Mirage!" Bluestreak called, a tremor in his voice matching the increasing charge his fuel-pump was feeling. Mirage began casually strolling up to him, the grace honed from vorns of stalking and stealth missions evident in his stride.

"Where's this game you told me about? I have to admit, my curiosity has barely been contained since you told me." He leant against a tree and looked around him; even in such a simple act he looked majestic. "So…where _is_ this quarry?" Bluestreak gasped in air for the coming moment.

"Right _here_, Mirage!" With those words, Bluestreak flung himself at the proud Ligier. The younger mech barely had enough time to register the horror on the blue-and-white's faceplate before he became transparent. Bluestreak fell straight through his intended target and slid down the slope, mud and grass scraping and gathering along the ruts of his body and in his bumper and lights. When the scratching, screeching sound finally silenced, Bluestreak could make out the sound of footsteps fiercely wending their way in the direction of the base.

After a moment's contemplation, he sat up and sighed: what a fool he had been to think that Mirage would want anything to do with him. Still, it had not ended quite the way he had hoped it had.

"Bluestreak?" The gunner lifted his head at the sound of his name. "Bluestreak?" The voice was closer and clearer now. "Bluestreak, it's Trailbreaker! Mirage mentioned something earlier about a- oh!" Trailbreaker had finally made his way up the ridge and laid optics on Bluestreak's condition. "…Um, where's Mirage?"

"Gone," he replied in a dreary, matter-of-fact way.

"He just left you here on you own?" Bluestreak did not reply. "Well, I'm free for the afternoon and I'll spend some time with you." Bluestreak looked up from his muddy resting spot and smiled; perhaps his agenda had not gone as planned, but at least he had some company.

End.

* * *

A/N: I have no more requests, and therefore, there will be no more chapters. Request a prompt from my profile if you want more Bluestreaks. 


	13. Enraged

A/N: One sentence into this 'chapter' and I damaged my right arm falling on the stairs. A-heh – what luck I have, especially when I have work tomorrow.

This was requested as slash, but to be honest, I couldn't think of anything openly slash-y to write for this one: a story always comes first if I have one. So, as with some of my previous chapters, if you don't go _looking_ for slash, you won't find any.

This may be edited later as I am not fully happy with it.

* * *

**Enraged.**

It was a simple question – so simple in fact, that Sunstreaker could not understand why Bluestreak dodged answering. Sunstreaker leaned closer, a half grimace, half twisted-smile sat on his mouth. He had his hands over Bluestreak's head in an intimidating posture as the silver-grey Datsun leaned back in his chair, the wall directly behind him. He had nowhere to run to.

"I'll ask you one last time, Bluestreak. And this time you'd better give me the answer I want to hear, or else there'll be… _consequences_." Bluestreak did not meet his optics, but instead stared at the Autobot symbol on his chassis. He was too depressed for this nonsense – too lost in his own memories to take Sunstreaker's ire seriously, especially since it was over a tin of wax and a chammy cloth.

"It's not here, Sunstreaker, though I did see it earlier in _your_ quarters." Sunstreaker growled and lowered his faceplate closer to Bluestreak so that he could hear every hissed syllable.

"But it's not there _now_ and I should know – I've turned the place upside down looking for it."

"Did Sideswipe touch it?" Sunstreaker banged his fist against the wall. Bluestreak jumped and his chevron scratched against Sunstreaker's head-wing. The intensity of the yellow twin's rage gathered more strength.

"Stop toying with me," he whispered dangerously. "Sides hasn't been back from patrol and he left before it went missing. You're the only one who's been in our quarters since it vanished."

_Slag._ Sideswipe had said there was only a little left and that he could use it. Apparently, Sunstreaker's new order had not arrived and the postal strike would mean he would have to wait at least another week.

"Well, you know it's always in the last place you look." He was going to try to stave off the warrior until his brother returned – he could not admit to using it and expect no consequences without Sideswipe there to defend him. "You could ask Tracks for some of his supply, or go into town and get some more."

"Tracksss," Sunstreaker hissed. "Uses an _inferior_ make. And where am I going to get expensive, European-imported wax from in _Portland_? Now where is it, Bluestreak? Why did you steal my wax?"

The vain Lamborghini grabbed Bluestreak by both shoulder tyres and smacked him back against the chair. His seat toppled, and arms flailed in the air wildly as he looked for something to keep his balance before he hit the floor. Sunstreaker had noticed the glint of light reflecting off Bluestreak's chassis and how unusually shiny the 'bot looked compared to usual. Sunstreaker glanced around, but could see no wax belonging to the gunner in sight.

"You… _used_ my _wax_?" Sunstreaker's digits clenched into a fist and he shook with anger. Bluestreak realised that he would have to deal with Sunstreaker alone.

"Sideswipe said I could use it since you were getting a new batch and I only wanted to try it out and if I'd known that there would be a postal strike I never would have finished it off!"

"There's _none_ left?" Sunstreaker thrust his fist towards the gunner, who in turn flinched away and closed his eyes as the sound of metal ringing against metal sounded above him. Bluestreak un-sub-spaced the chammy and threw it at Sunstreaker in the weak hope that he would take it and leave. "You _stole_ from me!"

"He said you wouldn't mind – that you would even find it flattering!"

"Gah!"

Sunstreaker looked about the room, eager to find an object worthy of his wrath. The scattered CDs never drew his attention, nor Bluestreak's rudimentary crafting and writing materials. Baubles and trappings from Bluestreak's past decorated the room, all in various conditions. Yet one item in particular stood out: an untidy heap of metal scraps that somehow cast the shadow of the Autobot symbol when the light on in front of it was at a certain angle. He stomped over to it. Messily scratched along a metal bar making up part of the scraps was the single word: 'Fusion'. Sunstreaker could not see the value in such a hideous object. Making sure that Bluestreak was marking his every move, he smashed the strange sculpture into the opposite wall and stamped on it multiple times. It would never be salvaged. He looked down at Bluestreak's pained expression as he still sat there on the floor. Sunstreaker was finally satisfied.

"And don't you ever-" Sunstreaker knew what hit him – it had been Bluestreak's fist. What Sunstreaker did not know was _how_ it had managed to hit him at that speed… or even how to dodge it in time.

"You slagger! You prissy idiot! Slagging helium-processing proto-form!" Bluestreak's vocaliser shrieked so loudly Sunstreaker barely contained the urge to cover his audios; the whole _base_ must have heard him! Bluestreak wore a mask of such contorted incensement that Sunstreaker had only seen it once of the battlefield before – now _he_ was facing it. He would easily subdue the foolish gunner though; the boy never had a chance against his stronger armour. Sunstreaker easily landed blows onto his foe, knocking Bluestreak back countless times. Yet every time Bluestreak would get back up – ignoring the damage done to any other items in the room – and claw at Sunstreaker. The warrior guffawed: his wax thief was hardly doing any damage whatsoever! Bluestreak's hands swiped over Sunstreaker's arms… and then it became very clear that he was trying to damage Sunstreaker's paintjob, his _beauty_, not his armour. Oh, for that, Bluestreak was going to _pay_.

When Jazz and Trailbreaker arrived on the scene, they found Bluestreak's door open, a scratched and dented Sunstreaker kicking him repeatedly in the back as he lay on the floor, his face to the wall.

* * *

Ratchet hummed as he worked on Bluestreak's repairs, a soothing melody that comforted Bluestreak slightly and helped to ease his anger. Staring at the glaringly orange ceiling, Bluestreak tried to console himself with the knowledge that even though the violent warrior might have destroyed a part of his past, he had yet to take his present or his future. It did not work.

"Now that ain't an appropriate tune to be hummin', Ratch," Wheeljack shook his head. "'Specially considerin' the situation n' the patient," he whispered, through Bluestreak heard him clearly.

"Oh? Eh?" The medic started from his reverie. "What was I humming?"

"That MASH theme tune."

"'Suicide is painless'," Bluestreak quoted in a distant voice, the spectre of a smile to be witnessed on his face. Ratchet and Wheeljack passed a concerned look at each other but said nothing.

Optimus Prime knocked on the door and strode in once he had Ratchet's answer.

"I have a visitor for you, Bluestreak," he said softly. Prowl entered the room, dragging with him a newly handcuffed Sunstreaker. He was still scuffed and damaged from the fight, which had kept his mood sour. Even though Bluestreak admitted to hitting Suntreaker, Optimus had given him the benefit of the doubt and refused to believe that such a mild-mannered mech with no history of violence in the ranks would start a fist-fight with a superior warrior without provocation. "Sunstreaker has something to say to you," Optimus said sternly, more towards the Lamborghini than the Datsun. "Well, go _on_." Sunstreaker sneered at Bluestreak, who stared back at him blankly. Silence lingered as Ratchet continued his work.

"…Sorry," he said shortly and sharply. Bluestreak turned away. A simple, unmeant word could not erase the pain of what he had done. Bluestreak would try to repair the sculpture, but it would never be the same again. Sunstreaker would never see the beauty or meaning in such simple objects… until his were gone from his life forever. Bluestreak knew the pain of this, and knew that a lesson learned… was usually learned all too late.

End.

* * *

A/N: The nastier side of Sunstreaker in there. It's part of fanon that Ratchet likes MASH, though I do not know who originally started this. If you don't know what the 'Fusion' means, look it up (I ain't saying, so there). 


	14. Kick Ass

A/N: I have to say that it's nice to see the fandom suddenly growing with all of the new interest. It's funny really – fan-fics started appearing less than a day after the film came out (In the US); I probably know half the 'plot' already, and the film doesn't come out in the UK until the 27th.

Requested by TBPK. _**Mild slash**_.

* * *

**Kick-Ass.**

Sunstreaker pointed to the large blue box atop the verge, a small antenna attached to it flailed about in the strong winds. Both could see that crossing the fields to reach it would put them in the enemy's sights, but they had no other choice.

"You check the forest over there, I'll check the forest over here," Sideswipe pointed, using small movements so as not to attract dangerous attention. "A storm is coming – the gunners will find it harder to hit us with the reduced visibility as well as the wind factor." Sunstreaker grimly nodded at his sibling's words and with one brotherly hand-clasp, he stalked away.

* * *

_It's not looking too good on this side, Sunstreaker – I can't see anyone and there's no cover,_ Sideswipe radioed over the comms. 

_Same on this side, Sides,_ the golden Lamborghini replied._ I'm gonna be the distraction and make a run for it. You race on and grab the box. Go!_

_Wait! But-_ Sunstreaker was already running from the trees, gun in his hand as he sprinted towards their target. He had closed but half the distance when the sound of screeching tyres could be heard somewhere on top of the miniature cliff and a silver Datsun careened off the edge, transforming in mid-air to robot mode. Sunstreaker fired and the bolts sped past Bluestreak's form. He kneeled and took aim, firing three perfect shots that hit Sunstreaker on the chassis and neck. Sunstreaker fell over with the blows, yet just before he hit the ground, he could see his red equivalent travelling swiftly up towards the box. Bluestreak turned and followed Sunstreaker's optics, a sharp gasp escaping his respiratory system as he reloaded his gun and began running _away_ from his charge. He turned, aiming carefully at the red warrior as he transformed, grabbed the box and jumped off the cliff to join his twin. Sideswipe aimed at Bluestreak and fired furiously at the gunner. Bluestreak did not move – the shots that hit him only glanced his armour as he took into account wind-speed, velocity and direction; he would wait for his moment. Sideswipe landed on damp earth, his feet sinking down and his knee-joints bent. For a brief moment, he had come to a stand-still. Bluestreak fired.

"Enough!" Prime called, walking onto the training arena with Prowl at his side. "Bluestreak, well done. Sunstreaker, Sideswipe… there's definitely room for improvement." Bluestreak grinned with the compliment and the visible results of his actions. Sunstreaker and Sideswipe were too busy examining the marks of the paint-ball gun to fully take in Prime's words. Sunstreaker soured when he realised his paint was dinted and Sideswipe touched his forehead, rubbing now lime-green fingers with surprised curiosity.

"Your best strategy would have been for one of you to find the highest vantage point and guide the other in," Prowl explained. "There was a rocky outcrop in the woods that would have shielded you from view and allowed you to observe the situation. This planet has a variety of terrain: make use of it, as you know the Decepticons will. Brawn was not the solution to this problem; you need to choose your battles more carefully." Bluestreak held out his hand to help Sunstreaker up, but the twins walked away to talk amongst themselves.

"Oh dear – you might have won this match, Bluestreak, but you may have to put up with bitter Lamborghinis for a while," Prowl advised him beore he too turned to go back to the Ark.

* * *

"Hey, Blue Boy! I heard you took down two big, bad warriors during training today! Y'know it's great ta know that you're watching my back!" Jazz grinned at him and gave him the Cybertronian equivalent of the 'thumbs-up'. Bluestreak waved and smiled in return, starting to feel tiredness from the energy he had used earlier. He had a shift half the day away – more than enough time to get some rest. Humming a wordless tune, he walked through passageways, returning the greetings that he got with the like, until he felt a lingering presence, following him along his route. He turned around to see Sideswipe leaning against a doorway behind him, smirk across his face. Bluestreak recognised that grin – it meant that he was up to something – most likely a prank to get even. 

"No hard feelings?" Bluestreak asked uncertainly, strain in his vocaliser.

"No hard feelings," Sideswipe responded, approaching him with that same wicked smile. Bluestreak tensed and ran, Sideswipe in close pursuit. He jostled past Mirage and Wheeljack, knocking an invention out of his hands and into disrepair.

"Sorry!" He shouted back, looking long enough to notice that Sideswipe was gaining. His quarters were only a corridor-turn away from the twins': he was so close, but he would not be able to type the code in fast enough before Sideswipe was upon him.

Bluestreak halted and turned to face his pursuer, irritation clear on his face-plate.

"Look! I-" Sideswipe grabbed hold of him and pushed him back into his door, pressing the call button to get his brother's attention. Bluestreak looked around: there was no one to call out to – _or_ to make rumours about this unusual situation. "Sideswipe! I-" Sideswipe closed his mouth over Bluestreak's neck, teeth-chips biting gently into the soft, leathery surface. Bluestreak gasped and tensed away from the Lamborghini at the same time that the door opened. He fell back into Sunstreaker's chassis and another pair of hands clasped over his arms. The gunner tried to twist away but knew he wouldn't get very far.

"You owe me for scratching my paint job, _Datsun_," Sunstreaker spoke into his audios with strangely _warm_ menace.

"There's no need to fight, Blue – you've already used up most of your energy."

"_But-!_" Sideswipe smirked as they pulled Bluestreak into their quarters, feeling their captive begin to sedate and settle.

"You need to choose your battles more carefully."

End.

* * *


	15. Angsty

**Angsty.**

Bluestreak waited outside the rings of dark stones, remaining for Sunstreaker's peace of mind. Deafened by the surrounding evergreen trees, background traffic provided a strangely eerie backdrop noise to the crimsoned sun. Though there were no clouds, the air was thick with humidity and the sky held such dust that with the fading scarlet light, the world took on the tone of an aged human photo, or the quality of a melancholy old film.

Bluestreak hated this kind of silence – the one that was never empty – filled with words no mouths had ever uttered, yet crawled through the air and clung to his processor. Memories folded back on the edges of his optics, threatening to peel away reality and return him to a painful world he was all too familiar with. To him, it was the _real_ _world_. How many had gone on before him?

He had been there when it had happened – a sad state of affairs, especially since Optimus had warned him only that morning about speeding. There had been no Decepticon attack – only a Datsun and a Lamborghini searching for forgetfulness – looking to lose their memories – in the tumbling autumn world on an early morning breeze. Sunstreaker had not lost control in the suburbs; he had been in perfect control of each and every one of his flawlessly pinpointed movements on his winding stage. He just had not _seen_ in time. It had been _her_ fault… and theirs both.

Footfalls rose over the distant noise, approaching closer to where he stayed.

"Is it done?" Sunstreaker looked back at the new stone and the recently disturbed ground that now joined so many that had come before. His white lilies rested at the foot of the tiny fresh mound, covered as it was with so many other bouquets.

"Yeah."

"Are you okay?" Sunstreaker tried to look him in the optics, but his faceplate constricted and he turned away, staring at the bare black markers, yet never once looking at that one particular stone. As if he gained something from this pause, his limbs unlocked and he sped away. Bluestreak did not need the setting for contemplation – he had enough memories of this for company, undying as they were even though they had been forged long before. He started his engine and reverently left the dedication to death.

Another slept beneath the green turf, while he waited for _his_ time.

End.

* * *


	16. Naughty

A/N: I've now seen the movie, and I didn't like it in the slightest. Do not expect any movie references or fics from me unless I am completely ripping it apart. I doubt it's even worth expending my frustration and disapointment over.

* * *

**Naughty.**

"Where is the silicone?"

"Erm…" Wheeljack waded through the mess of equipment on the floor and thrust his hand into the nearest open drawer, rapidly sifting through the contents before moving to the next partly open drawer and repeating the process. "Erm…" Now where had it gone? He was more than vaguely aware of Ratchet tapping on the table impatiently as he made his way to the only unopened container.

"Jazz and I are waiting, Wheeljack," the CMO exhaled heavily. Jazz lay on his back on the operating table and deliriously sang 'Girls Just Wanna Have Fun', although neither, for the life of them, could understand why it had suddenly become a 'Jazz-song'. In front of his face, his index fingers twitched to the beat. The inventor went through the clutter on the far examination table, passing over the unwanted items, brushing them aside and adding to the floor heaps.

"Erm…" Wheeljack's non-positive reply forced Ratchet to move away from the table, kicking gadgets out of the way with his foot.

"How on Cybertron-"

"-On _Earth_-" Jazz interrupted before quietly going back to his lyrics.

"-Thank you Jazz," Ratchet commented dryly. "-Did my medical bay get to be such a mess?!"

"Well, in between the operations on Huffer, Cliffjumper and Bumblebee, we didn't have enough time ta clean, sterilise an' return all a' the materials to their propa place, so we put 'em down ta clean later, gettin' out the spares an'-"

"It was a rhetorical question, Wheeljack." The background music changed to 'I need a Hero' and both standing mechs gave a cursory glance over the medical room's quagmire to the Special Operations Officer, quite happily in his own little world.

"Oh, hey Blue!" Jazz's greeting directed their attention to the med-bay doorway, where indeed there was a Datsun – or at least, they could see _half_ a Datsun, and half a smile on his face. He was hiding behind the door.

"What you up to?" He said with a smooth charm that Ratchet only related to Sideswipe. Warning claxons sounded in his processor.

"Are you damaged?" Ratchet asked.

"Nnnnnnope," said the young mech.

"Then get _away_ from _my_ med-bay!" Bluestreak giggled and disappeared with the promptness of his alt-mode's reputation.

"Honestly, Wheeljack – those kids decide to cause me _more_ trouble on the worst possible days."

* * *

"Hey Blue!"

"Shh!" Bluestreak's curt reply stilled Jazz with the wonder of his secrecy. Ratchet had long since fallen asleep in his office, leaving the half-cleaned med-bay still in a state of chaos. He had never seen the place in such a mess. How had this happened? He'd heard that the Dinobots had 'helped'.

"What are those strings for?" The Porsche tried to pull himself closer to Bluestreak. "Are those magnetic strips you've tied 'em 'round?"

"Wait and see!"

* * *

Ratchet awoke in the morning and waddled through to check on Jazz. Heavily tired, he mainly went through the motions. In this case, it meant he watched to see if Jazz moved when he poked him.

"Hey! Stop that, man!" Assured that his charge still functioned, Ratchet left to get high-grade. It was only when he returned that he actually took notice of his med-bay. The floor was clear. Someone had spent the time to completely clear the floor; and the deviant had hung each and every object that had not been put away on a string suspended from the ceiling. At least it was only his spare set of equipment items – he could not see any of his rarer or more expensive objects dangling precariously from the ceiling. In curiosity, Ratchet pulled down one of the strings and it extended slightly. Releasing it caused the wrench on the end to bob up and down frantically in mid-air. Jazz began to hum again.

"…The…slag…" As Ratchet stared in confusion, drink half-raised to his mouth, Bluestreak appeared in the door. "Those damn twins."

"It wasn't the twins, Ratch'," Bluestreak commented, complete with that cheeky smile from before. Ratchet half-turned towards the Datsun, a dry, questioning frown marring his usual morning scowl. Wheeljack appeared in the door.

"Oh."

"I don't think you'll have any trouble finding your equipment now, eh Wheeljack?" Wheeljack gave no verbal reply, but unconsciously nodded to Bluestreak's words. He grabbed one wire in each of his hands and tucked his legs up, swinging upside down for a moment before the elasticity of the strings left his head against the floor. He could see the magnets were strong, and were not going to come down in a hurry.

"I think they're pretty," Jazz rejoined, mind still swirling from his sedatives. "I like th' way the light glints offa them – like a disco ball." Ratchet stood there a moment longer, a glower focussed on the gunner. He put his drink down between Jazz's feet and picked up the suspended clippers to cut the string to the glue gun.

"Come here, Bluestreak." The mech in question giggled like a childish villain at the CMO's level-voiced request. "I'll glue your aft to the middle of the far med-bay _wall!_" Wheeljack still considered the med-bay's new filing system as Ratchet shoved past. Bluestreak pelted down the corridor, weaving to avoid the glue gun's touch. And in the background Jazz started his strident rendition of 'It's Raining Men'.

End.

* * *


	17. Cuddling

A/N: In the last chapter, the 10,000 hits mark for this story was reached. I'd like to thank all reviewers for the comments that help me improve and spur me onwards and also for the rest of you readers, who can appreciate the time and dedication I put into these stories.

Look at this as slash if you want to, but it could also be an example of brotherly/comradely love.

* * *

**Cuddling.**

He could not understand it – this feeling that he had. The sun had risen no more than fifteen times since he had trained with the twins. Bluestreak had worked so hard to improve and yet whenever there was a large battle he would just… freeze up. The triple-changers and the officers scared him the most when, like today, he caught their attention. Close-combat warriors were not the only ones that could suffer.

The Decepticons had left with another stalemate to mark the history of their eternal war. Torn limbs and fluids marked the ground, but no other 'bots were to be seen. Where was Ratchet? Perhaps he was close, perhaps he was far away. Bluestreak could hear nothing; his audios were too badly damaged. Every square millimetre of his frame burnt and itched beyond physical levels. Lying on his back beneath the tall field flowers, he knew that there was nothing he could do to ease it away and so he watched the sun touch the world and turn it gold one last time: soon the colour would be gone.

Bluestreak hated sunsets – he feared them. There was no logical reason for this – nothing bad had ever occurred to him at sunset, yet… there must have been something symbolic to the moment. After every troubling event he could not stand to see dusk – it was too traumatic. Bluestreak would hide himself from the world, alone and distracted, remain in recharge until nightfall or seek out company if the anxiety was too much to bear. Yet once the night had fully fallen there was a final peace – like the struggle to clasp onto life had finally come to an acceptance of its end.

Bluestreak's isolation became too pronounced. Panic set his limbs to movement and despite the corporal distress he searched for the nearest Autobot. He pulled himself along through the field grasses, tearing wild barley and earth from the ground with every handful. He mounted the steep slope in the hopes that he would see someone, or would be found. Someone else had fallen nearby – he knew that, but not where.

There was forest up here – old, musty and calm. The canopy of evergreens blocked out most light. A black and yellow foot stuck out from under a clump of ferns and Bluestreak kicked weakly to propel himself towards it. His fingertips touched the sole but no reaction came. He grabbed hold of the ankle-joint and pulled – the whole leg up to the knee came straight out of the undergrowth and into his hand.

"Dismembered," Bluestreak said to himself, his voice lost but the vibrations noticeable. Ferns rustled – the movement caught Bluestreak's optics. The Datsun pulled himself further under and came upon Sunstreaker, lying on his back and looking upward at the sky, just as he had been. Branches obscured the sky, but light seeped through the thick atmosphere and gave windows to the colour of time.

A sense of relief was tangible on the cusp of Bluestreak's consciousness. The strong sense of fear kept him moving – satiation only possible when he had the acknowledgement, acceptance and comfort he was after. The Lamborghini briefly looked his way and said something; once more the meaning was lost on his damaged audios. Bluestreak tentatively crawled closer, his engine becoming more and more unsettled as the distance between the two closed. Sunstreaker watched him with inexpressive countenance, his motives unclear as to whether he would welcome or damage the arrival. Bluestreak collapsed between Sunstreaker's chassis and his arm, his fingers clawing desperately to hold onto the life and damaging his paintwork in the practice. He could not see Sunstreaker's expression. He could not gauge what the yellow warrior made of his mental weakness, but he felt his other arm – Sunstreaker's gun arm – lift and hover over his head. Bluestreak stiffened. The arm came down with force and weight upon his back and nodes flared. He captured a sob and stared at the soil in front of him, his mind repeating over and over that he was okay: Sunstreaker had given him the acceptance he had been searching for. Bluestreak kept still, kept silent, happy for the company and trying his hardest not to disturb the other warrior. He waited in silence in a silent world, an arm over his back as his only comfort until the others found them. Both watched the colour of reality drain away with the sun.

End.

* * *


	18. Strutting His Stuff

* * *

**Strutting His Stuff.**

Like any good party, it only got going an hour after it was meant to start and lasted long into the early morning. Jazz's and Blaster's parties were never pre-planned – one moment one would turn to the other and with a single shared expression they could find a way to have everything ready for a good time before the end of their shifts.

Bluestreak was sitting in the main lounge when Eject and Rewind stumbled through, carrying a lighting rig. The gunner did not even look up as they began setting it up over the bar.

"Hey Blue!"

"Blue Boy! What'cha reading?"

"A _book_." The automatic reply was not intentionally meant to be rude, but whenever someone saw him reading they always asked him the same question – and it drove him crazy. He could avoid all of the questions by hiding away in his room, but after spending so long in there working, Bluestreak preferred a change of scenery. He pressed the button to bring up the next screen on the data-pad and hoped that the cassettes had not taken his comment too seriously.

"Yeah, well, I can see that," Rewind said as he fixed his end of the lights into place. "But what are you _reading_?" He placed in the power core to check that the lights were working. The bluish, electronic glow of the battery looked like it was one of the lights itself.

"'Touching the High Towers'."

"Fantasy, eh?" Jazz had been silently choosing his music selection in the other corner with Blaster but interjected his own question.

"Fantasy, drama, a little bit of spiritualism…" Bluestreak did not say any more but went back to his book. Out of the corner of his optics, he watched someone come through the door, falter and come crashing down to the ground.

"Ow! Hey, Blaster: are you gonna give us a little help with the sound system?" The voice belonged to Eject.

"Oops – be right there." Blaster ran across and began lugging the next heavy object into place. The Communications 'bot always made sure that there was a dedicated sound system whenever there was a party: he always preferred to be a part of the action and show off and had learned fast that he could not provide the music and dance at the same time without affecting the sound quality. "Aww – the corner's dented!" The noise only became worse as the four mechs bickered between themselves over the object's placement, the drinks and the music. Bluestreak sighed and realised that he was not going to get any more peace in here tonight. He sub-spaced the book, stood up and began an almost acrobatic exercise over the equipment and the scrambling energetic cassettes.

"You leavin', Blue?" Jazz barely looked up from connecting up the wires and power supplies.

"Yeah."

"Will I be seein' ya later?"

"Probably not. Sorry Jazz, but I want a quiet night in tonight."

"Aww, c'mon, Bluestreak! Stay for a dance! Do ya know how many times I've been in an' out o' the med-bay recently? Keep me some company!" Bluestreak shook his head and closed more distance between himself and the exit. "Well, stay for _one_ song!" He grabbed Bluestreak by the door-wing and pulled him back to the centre of the room. Eject started the music. A horrible, static and high-pitched squeal emerged from the box.

"Whoops! Got my wires crossed!" A moment later, Blaster's 'Dance Disco Mix: 1989' was playing 'She Drives Me Crazy'.

The special operations officer moved with the dexterity he was renowned for on the battlefield. Blaster and the cassettes occasionally passed a glance in Jazz's direction but were busier trying to do his share of the work as well since it seemed that he had given up on it. Bluestreak stood there, rocking back and forth from his heel-joint to the balancing-ball of the front of his foot. There was no chance that he could match Jazz's dancing skills, and there was no way that Jazz was going to let him leave until Bluestreak danced with him. In other words, Bluestreak was not going to be leaving the room with his dignity intact.

"C'mon, Bluestreak!" Jazz grabbed his arms and began swinging him from side to side, forcing him to move his legs unless he wanted to fall over. "Get into the rhythm!" Bluestreak began to move his body of his own accord, relying less and less on Jazz and moving closer and closer to the hallway back to his quarters. Unfortunately for Bluestreak, Jazz was not slow. "Get back here!" The Porsche began to spin him round, pushing him back into the lounge and making sure to stay between the Datsun and the door.

The song came to an end and changed to 'Another Day in Paradise'. "One more song – stay for this song!"

"Eeurrgh…" All Bluestreak wanted to do was read about the 'High Towers'; he wanted to know whether Blackcross had sacrificed himself for nothing – whether the cruelly named Avarice had become wiser from his mentor's knowledge and could break the cycle of hatred and despair within his peers that his creator had started and that he fed. It seemed that his enlightenment was not to be.

Hound and Trailbreaker found their way to the unexpected party and immediately joined the two of them in the room's centre. Bumblebee and Spike came in together and settled at the bar, despite no one being there to serve drinks.

"You're too early, people – we're not finished yet!" Blaster shouted from under the bar's table. One song after another passed through Bluestreak's audios and he was no closer to escaping. Over one twenty-fourth of one of Earth's days had elapsed when a crowd gathered and began surrounding them. Bluestreak realised that there was only way that he was going to get free: find a new victim for Jazz.

Blaster was suddenly and quite pleasantly surprised to see Bluestreak finally get into the music: he was dancing around the others and had quite a reasonable sense of style and balance. His hips moved one way and his arms the other, snaking through the air and through the collection of bodies. He twisted around the tables, looking from person to person to see who Jazz would want to dance the most. He locked onto Ironhide, smiling alone in a corner and tapping the beat on folded arms. Bluestreak moon-walked over, but Ironhide could already see what he was up to.

"Try it and you'll be spittin' yer feet pistons an' parts out fer a lunar cycle," came the deadpan reply. But the Porsche had been watching, and for Ironhide it was already too late. Duran Duran became the artist for the dancers as Jazz sidled over.

"Hello, Ironhide."

"Oh Primus, no." All effort in the room was immediately channelled into getting Ironhide out on the dance floor, and under these circumstances, Bluestreak successfully fled. "Jazz, there ain't no way ah'm dancin' to this!"

* * *

Bluestreak returned to the lounge once he was sure the party was over. Tip-toeing over the sticky patches on the floor, he went straight for the clearest, cleanest table. Sitting down, the gunner took out his book file again and began to read. 

"What are you doin' up?" Bluestreak jolted up to look at the voice; Ironhide was leaning against the bar, other hand on hip and staring at him with a cheeky smile.

"Couldn't sleep – everyone's making too much noise."

"Prefer the quiet, eh?"

"Not always… just tonight. What are you doing behind the bar?"

"Makin' drinks – it was the only way t' get me out a' dancin'. You want one?"

"Go on then." He trotted over and watched as Ironhide tipped out the contents of the few remaining bottles and juggled and spun them around his arms, under his leg and into one of the few clean receptacles left. "Hey, you're pretty good."

"Ah'm a terrible dancer, but ah used to have a lot o' jobs before ah became a – what ah am now." Ironhide's eyes distanced and Bluestreak saw his hand stir violently before being stilled. "You'll have a long life yet, Bluestreak – you'll become more than a gunner." Ironhide's tone was wary and less than convincing.

"…Yeah."

"How's yer book?"

"It's 'Touching the High Towers'. Read it? I'm almost finished."

"Yeah, ah've read it all the way through a couple a' times."

"I haven't finished it, but why does Blackcross put so much faith in Avarice, Goldglow and Dunesear when they're all such terrible people?"

"Blackcross yearned fer the past – fer a time when people thought and fought for themselves an' their ideals. He wanted to show 'em all something greater, but he wasn't sure whether they wanted t' change and were just oppressed by ah bleak society, or whether they were all passive to it, or indoctrinated enough t' be rooted in it. All a' his options were tragic, but he had the chance t' change somethin' an' he tried. In th' end, he only succeeded with Av'rice; only he had the will t' turn away from the easy path o' compliance."

"But he only made the other two worse."

"He did, but t' him he saved one, an' the most driven one at that. An' that's enough hope t' start a new future." Ironhide stared at the tumbler in his hand, considering the simpler past that he had once lived and how unenviable Prime's task was. "Strange how everythin' changes in an instant. Enjoy what you've got now, kid; things can turn fer better or worse all too soon."

"…Yeah." Bluestreak went back to his book whilst Ironhide twisted and turned his tumblers with showmanship – grasping hold of a buried moment that would never come again.

End.

* * *


	19. Dominant

* * *

**Dominant.**

"What's this, Bluestreak?"

The Datsun turned his head with a weighted languor that Bluestreak hoped would make his weariness clear. The three words – four, if you considered one had undergone elision – had been the permanent, unrelenting distraction of the past megacycle.

"_That_, Fireflight, is a cassette player. You know – like Blaster?"

"Oh." Fireflight obviously had not noticed the exasperation choking Bluestreak's vocaliser.

"Don't touch it. It's delicate and might break. Spike will show you how it works." He went back to watching the security monitors. Fireflight ignored him and found a way to accidentally push the 'play' button. The other Aerialbots gathered around it and listened to the tiny, tinny sound coming out of the headphones.

"What's this music, Bluestreak?" Air Raid asked. "I kinda like it."

"That's 'rock' music. Go find Spike and he can tell you the name of the song." Unfortunately for Bluestreak, the Aerialbots did not follow his advice. They were waiting for Silverbolt to be done with a meeting so that they could go off together as brothers. It was a shame for the gunner that they weren't waiting more quietly.

"What's going on here, Bluestreak?" Skydive was pointing to something on one of the monitors. It was the common room: Ratchet was having a screaming fit at Tracks, who was sourly turning away, arms folded across chassis. Wheeljack, oblivious of his immunity to Ratchets squalling, was tranquilly cleaning some equipment in the table's corner. Cliffjumper strolled in, said something that was unappreciated by the CMO and received a data-pad thrown vaguely in his direction in warning. The thing bounced off the wall, jolted the camera slightly, fell onto the Lancia's workplace and scattered whatever the inventor had been working on. Bluestreak could not see anything out of the ordinary, and he said so. Skydive looked from the monitor to Bluestreak, to the monitor, to Bluestreak.

"Uhh…" It was the first time in many deca-cycles that Bluestreak had seen a mech look so confused and bewildered at once.

"What's this, Bluestreak?" Bluestreak turned to see Fireflight passing him a data-pad which contained the book file that Ironhide had misplaced an Earth-week ago.

"Ironhide's been looking for that. He'll be pleased to get it back." At least someone would benefit from the Aerialbots' inability to leave things alone.

"What's it about?"

"The fictional lives of a group of interconnected people in a civilisation in the past on the other side of the world." Fireflight blinked slowly. "It's hard going. I didn't get past the first chapter."

"What's this, Bluestreak?" Slingshot was pointing to a monitor that he had tuned in to a television station. It was an advert involving a barely-clad human female and the letter 'X' three times.

"…Ask Sparkplug. Or Blaster or the twins." Slingshot was about to take it further when Silverbolt walked in behind them. "Finally!" Bluestreak groaned far too loudly and abruptly to be taken politely.

"Oh, er, hi," Silverbolt murmured, taken aback by the forceful 'greeting' and the pained looks it had produced from his brothers. "Come on guys, let's get going. Bluestreak, uh… see you later?" Bluestreak nodded and waved, elated to see their wings vanishing through the door.

The long, large expiration released from Bluestreak's chest relieved most of the tension that had been building up from the youngest Autobots' presence, but he knew that they would be back later with more questions. When the Aerialbots had first come to the base, they had attached themselves to Sunstreaker, Sideswipe and himself. As time went by and Sunstreaker became more disagreeable and the original allure of showing off had worn away from Sideswipe, Bluestreak had found that the five fliers had been spending more and more time with him. There were times though when he wished that they'd never come to the Ark. Yet that thought made him feel guilty and depressed – they had done nothing wrong and he would never wish harm on them. He just didn't know what to do or say without letting them down or losing their trust. _Jazz would know though,_ he thought. Jazz knew _everything_. Bluestreak would ask him on his next break.

* * *

Bluestreak found the Porsche alone in the rec-room. All of the lights were turned off, apart from the set furthest away from where the special operations officer was dancing to his car stereo.

"Jazz, I need to ask you-"

"I remember when, I remember, I remember when I lost my mind…" _Oh, Primus,_ Bluestreak thought. Jazz was singing whilst the gunner was talking – something he only did when he was trying to avoid a conversation. Some mechs believed it was his unique way of trying to tell someone he was not interested without being rude. Of course, some mechs found this indirect approach even more unpleasant.

"Jazz, it's impor-"

"…There was something so pleasant about that place."

"Jazz…"

"Even your emotions had an echo-"

"Jazz!"

"-in so much space!"

"If you could just stop singing _at_ me for a moment-"

"And when you're out there…" Jazz paused and waited for the interruption. This time there was none. "…Without a care, yeah, I was out of touch," he continued happily. Bluestreak folded his arms and settled sternly against the wall. He was not going to leave Jazz alone until he got his answer. "But it wasn't because I didn't know enough: I just knew too much." The average human song, by Bluestreak's estimates, was around three minutes. He would tackle the Porsche _then_.

The Datsun ignored the music and began tracing his fingers along the grooves in the wall, waiting for the tell-tale silence or presenter's voice. "…My heroes had the heart to put their lives out on the limb, and all I remember is thinking: I wanna be like them." Bluestreak froze. Something struck him: the words reminded him of when he had first become an Autobot – he and Fusion, together – and how great and wise everyone seemed in comparison. Yet it had not been the mighty and near-omnipotent officers that had attracted their awe, but the lowly and more accessible warriors: so similar, yet so much unlike themselves. He remembered their skill and endurance, how they fought side-by-side with a strength and mentality that, back then, he and Fusion had yet to master. When the battle was finally through, these role models kept moving stoically forward, retaining all the life and vigour that most eventually lost. Bluestreak's thoughts back then had been: 'I wanna be like them' and he got as close as possible, hoping to learn their ways.

Without saying a word to Bluestreak, Jazz had given the Datsun the answer.

* * *

"I think Bluestreak got angry at us, earlier," Fireflight whispered to Air Raid as they tip-toed past the sleeping quarters.

"Oh, you _think_?" The other mech replied, giving a cursory glance to his other brothers behind him. "But he had no right to get so angry. I mean, _come on_! How are we supposed to learn _anything_ if we don't ask que-" He cut off abruptly when he saw the subject of his annoyance sitting on the floor outside their quarters. "Uh… Bluestreak?"

"Oh, hey guys!" He stood up with a bounce and put both his arms around their shoulders. "You guys aren't tired yet, are you?" Silverbolt, Slingshot and Skydive stopped a few paces away from them.

"No," Slingshot replied for them, a hand on his hip as always. "Why?"

"You wanna watch a movie with me?" It had been a while since he had seen such wide grins on their faceplates.

"Sure!" With that utterance, they gave up all attempts at keeping quiet and made their way to the converted cinema, waking no less than four mechs as they went.

Jazz had once been a 'bot that Bluestreak had held in that strange 'role model' position. Bluestreak realised that, in a way, he still was there. In kind, it seemed right then that he had given him the answer.

Let them get close: all they wanted to do was understand.

End.

* * *

A/N: That is the first and last time I'll ever put song lyrics into a story; I can never take it seriously and this experimentation has not changed my opinion. This is also the first time I've broken 'technological continuity' by putting a song back by about two decades. My standards are obviously slipping.

* * *


	20. Working Out

* * *

**Working-Out.**

Someone had been blackmailing the inventor. Bluestreak knew this because standing in front of him were two Transformer-sized arcade machines that Wheeljack would never have otherwise torn himself away to create. 'Dance Dance Revolution' was scrawled across the tops of the devices while little arrows scrawled across dark screens, reflecting off the smooth sheen of Jazz's paintwork as he stood beside one of the computers. Music

"Like 'em? Wheeljack built these f'r us so that we've a new way t' work-out."

"That's not working-out," Bluestreak replied, a little puzzled how such a simple contraption could equal the same number of cycles sprinting or practicing optimum capacity with weights. He looked from Sunstreaker to Sideswipe to Jazz: each seemed equally capable of riffling through the mad scientist's affairs until they found and used some leverage.

"Sure it is, Blue Boy! Wait 'til ya pass the easy levels an' 'ave been doin' it f'r a while!"

"It's still not a proper work-out…" he looked at Sunstreaker and Sideswipe who had begun to bicker over whose turn it was on the one machine despite there being two.

"Hey, Jazz! I'll be on your team!" Sideswipe shouted.

"No fair – you were on his team last time! It's my turn this time!" Sunstreaker rebuked, pushing his brother's head against the screen.

"Well c'mon, guys! One of you make a decision!"

Moments like this were always depressing for Bluestreak: not a single word was said about him, he was completely ignored – it was as if they were fighting to _not_ be his partner… because that's what it essentially came down to. Sometimes the paranoia in him had the only plausible answer: he was not there to participate as an equal – he was there to sabotage his party so that the others had a greater chance of winning. And so it was that, currently, they were choosing who would win and who would lose before the game had even begun. Bluestreak despised his clumsy moments – there were times when he could hit a target ten miles away with a perfectionist's accuracy and then there were situations where he clipped a 'bot accidentally in passing and sent whatever they were holding whirling into gravity's hold. And of course, no one remembered when he did something well, only when he-

"Hey, Bluestreak!" Sideswipe waved a hand in front of him, keeping a grin as confident as it ever was. "When you come back from wherever you've gone to, we're ready to begin." …Maybe this time he was wrong.

"Hey," Sunstreaker intoned. "Who's going up against who?"

"Who's going up against _whom_, Sunny," his brother retorted. Bluestreak looked from the yellow Lamborghini to the Porsche. Sunstreaker was intimidating, but the cool and charismatic exterior that Jazz presented himself as was not something he wanted to test himself against.

"Well, I'll go up against Sunstreaker, so you can take Jazz if you want, Sideswipe." The yellow twin latched optics with the Datsun, his faceplate clearly showing his unimpressed disdain.

"Oh? And why do you want to go up against me? You think I'm gonna be an easier opponent?" He shook his fist in threat. "Bring it on – I'll prove you wrong!"

"No-no! That's not it at all!" Bluestreak placated. "Don't you want a change from going up against your twin all the time?"

"…_No!_" The tone of the reply communicated more than the actual reply itself. "If you think that I'm going to let you beat me-"

"That's not it at all!"

"Guys, c'mon! Can't we start already?"

"Hey, 'Streaker, y'know Blue mean' nothin' by it! Chill, man!" The tinny, musical beeps of the machines continued on in the background while their voices escalated, arms becoming involved in their furious communication. The music turned flat and faded into silence and the screens were no longer illuminated.

Prowl cleared his vocaliser to gain their attention.

"This -" he gestured to the machines with a hand containing two unplugged power-leads. "-Is not a work-out. Besides which, your noise is waking the night-shifters; they've requested that you move outside." Ratchet lingered by the doorway, listening in on the conversation with a semi-comatose expression not uncommon on mechs after long, arduous shifts. Both officers gave Jazz one flat, critical glance before moving away.

"Well guys, we've been told! Fancy doin' a few circuits 'round the base?"

"Did that yesterday," Sunstreaker sulked. Bluestreak looked back to the dead sound and light boxes: the arrows travelling up the screens had given him a new idea – something they had not done before in all of their years of existence. It was something that had the potential to keep the twins entertained for hours and worn-out by night-fall.

"Anyone want to try rock-climbing?"

End.

* * *


	21. Sleepy

* * *

**Sleepy.**

The road stretched on beyond the horizon, coloured in the last glimmers of burning auburn by the now-set sun. Dust ran wild through the desert and across the road, coerced along by agitated winds. Deep purples foretold the approach of a silver-spangled navy sky, but Bluestreak could not find the energy to admire the paradox of the dramatically subtle changes: he was too preoccupied with channelling his last craps of energy to getting back to the Ark.

Prowl's negotiations with the human bureaucrats had failed, resulting in them losing more face than they had before the negotiations. It would fall upon the second-in-command to give the bad news to Prime and the rest of the Autobots, along with an explanation on why they were no longer going to receive so much fuel-rationing in the future. The silver-grey Datsun did not envy the other's job and was glad that being a 'grunt' could be considered less demanding in it's own ways.

"Prowl," he called over the comms. "I need to rest."

"We're nearly there, Bluestreak: just another three-quarters of a mega-cycle and we'll be home."

"…Alright." Even the drumming of his engine became a strain of energy – a vigour-seeping melody that separated him further from reality. Even with the fervent dirt figures running all about them, the air out here was clean and fresh and colder than the indoor conference room that they had been squeezed into. Cycling crispness through his system took some of the strain away from his pistons and axels and he settled into the routine drive back to base. Contrails lined the sky above his route, guiding him like railings that he could lean on dependently until he reached his recharge-berth. Stars had begun to appear in the upper bleakness, twinkling in patterns foreign to the ones that he had known on Cybertron. By Primus, his gears were weary.

"Prowl, I really need to stop for rest…"

"You can stop back at the base, Bluestreak." Irritation coloured Prowl's reply. "You've come this far, you can go the rest of the way; stop acting so young." The gunner flinched but said nothing, turning his attention back to the road. For a spliced second, his optics shuttered. The terrain jostled him to and fro but he had become used to it to the point where it no longer recalled his concentration. If he paid them no attention, the thin, patchwork clouds almost felt like the looming, metal buildings of his faraway homeland, with little lights illuminating them from inside. Yes – he was back on Cybertron, back before the war had torn living into memory. The motorway went ever-onwards, free of all traffic for him to career wherever his whim took him. Prowl's tail-lights became neon signs glowing in front of him, the alien smells nothing more than chemicals carried through the troposphere, and those moons, those twin-moons that glowed ever brighter, closer and closer – why, they could almost be one of his long-lost friends…

"Bluestreak!" Somnolence was torn away. The green mini braked, its driver thrusting the wheel as far right as it would go. Bluestreak hit the car side-on before he even applied his own brakes, the vehicle spinning and somersaulting away from the impact until it crumpled against a boulder, broken fragments flying up into the air and scattering about the ground like falling hail. Diesel gushed from the car's fuel tank, the car's horn beeping unremittingly even though no hand was setting it off.

Prowl transformed and sprinted over to check for any survivors, radioing the base for urgent help. Pain coursed down Bluestreak's left side where he had collided with the human car. The younger Autobot transformed with difficulty, damaged to the extent that it was not just sleep now that kept his mind from functioning. Swaying and unable to stand, he dropped onto his knees, using his hands for support. Even this was too much, and as he lifted a hand to his head, his body succumbed to the weight of gravity. Consciousness absconded.

"Bluestreak! Bluestreak, get over here!" Prowl did not notice the other Autobot behind him, fears setting in about the state of the humans. He pulled the driver-side doors off their hinges, an aggrieving gasp passing from his internals into the outer world. The driver slumped into Prowl's hands, red fluid leaking over his digits. The human's head was drooped at an awkward angle and Prowl could not find a pulse. The driver was dead, the passenger beside him was dead, and even the little, long-haired form in the back would no longer want for air.

End.

* * *

A/N: I'm now only going to write up to thirty 'Bluestreaks', so if you want to request one, now is your last chance. This is _not_ on a 'first-come, first-served' basis: I'll let you decide for yourselves what criteria I'm looking for. 


End file.
